| Based on extracts from the Walt Whitman poem ‘Song of Myself, Leaves of Grass’. The entire project has been assembled in CD format (August 2000) but is no longer available for viewing. |
this atmosphere is not a perfume
but is the presence that still remains
in contours shaped when you rose to leave
with morning
I am embracing the slow escape of warmth
to find comfort in this chilling room
making your image in
the smoke of my own breath
and half day-dreaming
what I can’t do is hold you
grasp as I might to catch the illusion
there is nothing but the trace
left in a tepid fold of cloth
that holds a whisper of the smell of you
and it is my skin that lies alone
bare against the sheets
and last desire
© Frank Prem, 2000
19/11/17
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I love this. Fabulously evocative from beginning to end.
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Thanks Mike.
I think sometimes these pieces take their mood from the original and build from there.
Delighted you enjoyed it.
Cheers,
Frank
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This is beautiful 🙂
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Thanks Michelle.
Cheers,
Frank
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Thank you.
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Use the force! Just because the official daily prompt is gone you can still use the past platforms to reach your audience. I did it today with my post. Freedom of speech requires innovation. 🙂
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Will do GC. Keep at it.
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