The Man Who Would Love a Geisha.

Its aura of independence and obscurity draw in the morning dew and her hair,
Lingers with the smell and taste of jasmine, lilac, and years and wishes
Gone,
By with the winter winds, to the cries of the ocean made of a crystalline glass,
And the roar of their swells trapped in the reverie of Father Time’s misted hourglass,
She sings away cherry blossom petals clothing her lips and the snow blindfolding,
The passion and sight with which she sways hypnotically as if drunk on the,
Very essence, the very ambrosia of life, draws me in further more I am captured,
I am swayed to the spell of the equinox that she waves away with her silk robes,
With a grace as to make jealous the doves flying all around the Earth pining,
Away to the angels that wished they were as mortal as the Earthly angel dancing,
Upon the blades of the stuttering winds caught in the beauty of that which no,
Element could create and so here was I caught in what I would know to become,
An end for me and so I would see in her eyes beauty and life encored so in,
Its grace there would perhaps be something to see that my soul could comprehend,
But only would there be life washed away in pure red lips when longing she,
Looks out from the forest trees one porcelain hand holding on as if to her life,
Eyes as black as the farthest reaches of space and I wish to slip in them but there,
Is not only no room but no hope as looking she held out her hand and whispered,
Whispered a word that held its sad note in amongst the birds in the marshes,
Quietly silently and wavering she whispered,
No.