Invocation

the first words I read are those
you pen, brief and to the point –
and then the music wells within

it is a symphony unleashed, an
invocation where your scent is
seed that manufactures dreams

in wafted gentle breath afloat
upon unspoken promises I see
and understand your brevity

simplicity and grace conspire to
make aesthete the man whose
greed would triumph over me
© 9 July 2010, I. D. Carswell