by James S. Wilk

Again I'm wistful as I hear the rain tonight:
a quiet, lonely sound, like a distant train at night.

I pray the pitter-patter serves as lullaby,
soothing, that I might dream of you again tonight.

In dreams we talk. You tell a tale, in turn I laugh,
content in dear Scheherazade's domain tonight.

In dreams we walk, our fingers intertwined like souls,
the fleeting moments easing lonesome pain at night.

You stare into my eyes; our noses touch, lips part.
Your kiss is redolent of sweet champagne tonight.

Your skin is smooth and salty; we merge head and loins
as Kekule observed the snakes in chain at night.

Your Giacomo takes care to memorize such dreams,
for when he wakes, he'll reach for you in vain tonight.

© 2008 by James S. Wilk


About the Author

James Wilk, M.D. is a physician in Denver, Colorado specializing in medical disorders complicating pregnancy. His poems have appeared in Measure, The Sow's Ear, The Salt Flats Annual, Barefoot Muse and others. His chapbook, Shoulders, Fibs, and Lies is available through Pudding House Press:



All content copyright © 2006-12 by ShatterColors, unless otherwise indicated. All rights reserved.
Reproduction of material, in whole or in part, from any ShatterColors Literary Review
pages without written permission of the copyright owners is strictly prohibited.
Site designed and built by Robert Scott Leyse, with input and logo by Granville Papillon,
and wallpaper by Edward Haven from two of his paintings.