in my eyes,
violins curl
from the dying flames
caressing the shadows
forming tattoos,
welts blossoming,
amber fire soft
and lush on my back,
watching me
always,
from the corner,
blind, his fingers find,
my shape un-forming,
into ashes,
left to smolder,
in the chiaroscuro
after-thoughts of his mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment