China and Bronze

Your fingers, china against bronze thighs,

Your gasp, a ribbon of silver in the dark.

The arch of your back, sacred as church windows.

Your eyes, soft, drinking in light,

Your shudder, the trembling of a May bloom

The scent of your hair, smoky and cold as the night.

I blink, a dream, a vision of what could be and sigh

return to my empty bed.

 

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