how tight this blossomed mask of illusion fits
how deep the thorns of loneliness cut
barely breathing
curled
yearning blue & folded
the long, twisted knot hits bone
needing nothing
but
stillness
puppet to master
stone to velvet-soft
wind to sail
fearless yet weary of pretense & discord
struggling to keep sacred
true
that opal light
that lies along the chesnut-cord of tenderness
a reciprocated knowing intimacy
locked within the pandora's box called 'there'
where?
there
in all that is you . . . is me
both light & fire
burn
rest
rest
gather the plumage of peacock-gold & scarlet-blue feathers that
will
allow
&
fill
the
rise
