Skyler Jon Thayer
An hour, a beautiful hour.
Time has no quantity, only quality,
We fall into these cushions of the couch,
sinking into serenity.
Heat briskly beats, though we are too far.
It lingers towards our legs.
Such a feel: warmth, how honest it is.
Hands swiftly brush,
both dry as wood.
The air fills with powdery ash
as the log cabin caves within itself.
I begin to yawn, and the smoke seeps
within my open mouth.
I yearn for water, wishing
to wash such flavors away.
The overshadowing scent of logs burning,
I relocate into memory,
the reminiscence of similar scenes.
Her perfume pulls me back into the present,
reminding me of her essence;
she deserves my attention.
For an hour, I confuse
flavor with fragrance,
and fragrance with flavor.
These senses conjoin
for the night, to accompany
First, the crickets chanting,
then, the wind whistling;
Mother Nature’s lullaby
provides us desire for slumber.
The chimes call, asking to be heard,
we lend them our ears while heads rest.
As I listen, air expands her chest,
then dispels with such grace.
With glass lens reflecting flame,
I turn my head.
She is smiling.
appears at my very eye!
enhancing the romantic scene.
To call this tranquility with
the one I adore;
I would have it no other way!
His studies with the English Department of Stony Brook University had placed a greater focus on his academic works rather than his creative pieces. However, with his recent completion of a Bachelor's Degree in English, he is able to further experiment with his creative writing once again.