Shedding, in the light
A ritual before the ritual
A dread creeps up of
The chance of other’s dislike
And colour crawls slowly
Flooding the parched skin
Shy in the brightness
There sparks a silent cry
For the comfort of dark
For in the light
No barriers exist between
Each flaw and each right
But for the dark there is
Deception as much as
Delight of unseen blemishes
The ritual before
The ritual is not of
The day but of the night
Strands, one too many
United, in a brief clutch
Of your playful fingers
Stray, to places unseen
Scatter, as you withdraw
Bones, of my twin shoulders
Hunch, in the crushing hold
Of your powerful arms
Drawing, them nearer
Fall, in the deepness
Pointed, and rugged my nose
Inhales, the sweet scent
Of your weak ears
Holds, the one moment that
Grasps, the magic of closing
Divided and little strongly so
They lay where none could find them
In a dark recess of their own being
And far from the little rising of virtue
Like the light that would ruin entirely
What beauty had become to them
And the sorcery that wouldn’t suffice
The great ask of their words
Of what had been said, would they say?
Of what had been done, would they do?
And there it was again
A little sun, in a mirror darkly
Raising the curtain between
Falling a little short, here and there
But glorious, in its entirety
And unfelt at the morrow
Enticing at something
With the two irises, together dancing
A blizzard, in itself, reflected poorly
In the morning mirror, this felt
Perhaps, the same of me, as of
What the walls had felt yester
Undefined, a little shy of wrongness
The sight of your smile
What is the pleasure of the fallen
Cannot be felt by the flying
What we have sunk to feel
Cannot be measured by time
Running against the steady winds
Undoing what is defined
We stand in a part of their reeling
Trying to do the untried
The palette that holds our grays
Blending the black and the white
Will not be of meaning to them
For whom the norms suffice
