Slow Is The Love Poem by Luke Easter

Rituals finally slipped the costume down the mounds,
As she gave in at last, slow the vision, slower the sound,
Silk and the zephyr lit the fire of love with the vintage wine,
The depth of another night in the nest of love for another time.

Amidst the tinkle of music, an eternal breath, in the open sky,
Wrapped in the finest crimson silks of dreams for a starry sigh,
Adorned by jewels around her neck in worship for a heart of gold,
Shattered heart, nightmare of thunder, a warm temple turns cold.

Where she awaited her promise of love, a Gypsy no longer game,
Unsettled sandalwood dust, a mat of straw, bursting into flames,
From sunken drapes, a regal princess, feet towards the unknown,
Under the spell of a destination, gone are cushions on her throne.

Freedom she sought from jealousy, envy, by the moon & stars,
Love’s journey no longer a pot of roses becoming battle scars,
The old mystic words of wisdom far from an opera in her ears,
A flock of swans blowing against the wind to elevate her fears.

Slow the love or has it stopped short of the plains to migration?
The distance of ages who knows for sure, stop the intoxication,
Abundance tonight, the red wines flows, who climbed the fence?
Towards my heart, the holiest of places, could this be my Prince?

Drunk have I from the goblet that rusted flamboyance in the city,
Unveil thy Princess in the Garden of Eden? Paradise has no pity,
Ambulating the rituals as I wander aimlessly from place to place,
Traversed deserts of solitude over an oasis of honey to embrace,

Tavern of yore, the old woman’s blessings, from her hands I seek,
Knowledge of the Vedas unveiled scripture, strength from the weak,
Lost from my heart, this unknown pilgrim, dare I ask any for advice?
Might the sacrifice that flows with musk of oil be to hearty a price?

Reality or highly improbable, sometimes no matter how real it seems,
It might be days before the adjustment that we awaken from a dream,
Darkened clouds will easily hide the sunlight rays of a blessed hope,
Without humbleness of happiness releasing pressure, it’s hard to cope.

Pour a bit of it anointing me, I humbly seek but a glimpse of a glance,
Yes, thou shall sing sweet verses of poems granting one last chance,
With the magic of wonder from underneath my heart of gold because,
I shall awaken anew with the sunrise, for always, “Slow Is The Love.”

w/Anjali Sinha