Our hands move
Stir the dark
Reflect the light
emanating from her skin,
from the dusky spill
of her hair
Where she sits –
luminous, aglow –
in a high-backed chair
carved of ebony
Our hands –
pale moths winging
about her flameless
conflagration –
shift the aromatic
dark
Aflutter
Replicating her glow,
her light.
— C.Birde, 8/21
3 Comments
Cool picture and words!
Thank you! (Let me tell you a secret — you played a prominent role in this dream!) 😁
How wonderful!