Chrysalism

Dim the lights.
Come sit by me in this cosy nook
of raindrops tap-tap-tapping on windows
and candlelight swaying, drunk with love.
The oak in the fireplace will keep us
snug and warm
but for now,
let me kiss that face I adore,
so impassioned
reading the pages of Rimbaud—
“Here’s a gentleman who doesn’t know what he’s doing;
he’s an angel.”
He's my angel,
the angel that cocoons me in arms
and a peach counterpane
to protect me from thunder that
rumbles and roars until spring flowers
bloom forevermore
with the glittering of a brand-new dawn.

© Ruth Francise

CHRYSALISM: The tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

It is Springtime in Australia, and I find nothing more romantic than the sporadic rains that have come with it this October.

Give me candles, give me raindrops, give me Rimbaud, give me purring cats, give me an angel in the guise of a man, and I am in wonderland.

Chrysalism is my response to this challenge.