She’s absence of crowds.
An auroral ripple;
A stipple of rarest light
Over dew-bladed glade through tree-spaces;
Traces of refunded innocence;
A feather-fight in the leaves;
The weave of breeze along my spine.
The blush on a half-moon;
Secrets heart-slid across the floor,
Yore-shadows at bay beyond the glow;
The haunt of time at the window;
Wafts of want on unfaded bow;
An echo of bolt and boom
From childhood-loomed storm-wonders.
A collection of candy
In fragile-pink fingers;
A living, careening carousel;
A dream that lingers well into grey;
A casted ream of smile-spun spells;
Stellar bells hung from a star;
The hypnotism of fire from far away.
A length of laughter;
An album of longing-after;
A saltless, restless rosemary tear;
Fear hung by a noose in my chest;
The safest way through the wilderness;
A waifish kiss on a wound;
A proof of heaven too soon.
A swoon on a night-sweat;
A thousand-fold bet wagered and won;
Bubble-gunned down in the sheets;
Bars of glass and a handkerchiefed hammer;
A breathless, made-it getaway run;
A rung to freedom and freckled sun;
A stammer on the tongue.
She’s shapes in the clouds.