Cloud of Annalise

Azure noon skies over Swan Valley,
a pearly patched luster of cloud
entwines in vaporous dance
forming a resemblance.

So striking - the skyward sculpture
that I in moan, whisper;
a name so buried in maze
within catacombs, of my heart-grave.

Into that labyrinth of dim haze
I dug and sifted the name;
Annalise, oh Annalise
why today have mystics carved you.

How can that smile be known,
unless - in seraph congregation
in blinding abodes of countless suns,
your essence passed forgiving gates.

Years I've dared not utter Annalise,
for my pulse would weave a wave,
that swelled love-lost memories
drenching my eyes with liquid pain.

The unruly graze sorted itself
to exactly mirage her curled hair
whose golden locks once swayed
to the plush of valley winds.

Each crevice and curve
every dimple and eye lash,
outlined by unmerciful creators
whose taunts on me wreath.

Entombed now in reminiscence
in the fluffed daze of Annalise
floating in eyed precision
in replica; of once banished dreams.

As a flickering camera
our courtship flashes, screening,
encompassing the entirety of view,
compelling my arms extension.

Greeted were my empty embraces
with sombre, wistful hushes
and whimpers of last words
before I lost beautiful Annalise.

No softer and lusher Swan grasses -
have I ever laid upon as now
yet I yearn to not have gazed,
above - above to the cloud of Annalise.