Daybreak

Daybreak



The morning mistral
runs from the night,
caressing my face
with a lover's soft touch.

I close my eyes
and hear her soft
footsteps;
the sounds of her
shimmer in the air.

The pungent smells
of the desert lea
recall her perfume.

The dawn's fingers of
soft light claim her,
lifting heavenward as she fades
in the brightening sky...

Sighing, my day begins
with memory's embrace.

Notes

December 22nd entry in "A Poem A Day Contest"  [E]
Option 1. No Prompt

Line Count: 18

mistral - a cold, dry, northerly wind
lea – a tract of open ground

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even encouragement and/or praise - are all equally welcome.

Ken