in the off-white tang of
fresh rain;
with the
dry point of a sunken needle-
manchester's moon,
stained in
the forlorn amber
of old wine-
embroiders the night;
it is a cavalcade of tones
of abstract charcoal lattices,
of thick green birth
and ciliated browns,
dancing to the
free will melody
of a brackish wind
~~
my friend who sits beside me
in speckled silence
touches my arm-
she needs me to see
past the thirst-ridden Spathodia
to the clouds; east
where little sun's
naked skin,
brushes against the horizon
i search for words
that will claim the moment
before it crawls back,
broken
into the womb of indifference--
where often i have lost them.
but just now,
soft finger's spill into mine
locks dangle daintily
from my chest
our eyes both dance to the
quavered thrum
of whispered heartbeats;
the sky opens-
and this time
we both know...
Gold trophy winner
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