Prisms

We make excuses for our love,
for any chance to sit beside
or qualify another ride
into the beating city’s heart;

we are the blood, the pulse, the red
and present danger, underneath
and lingering in lingerie,
and glassy iris, stones in hand,

a parallel refraction splits
in prisms from our diamond gaze,
unbreakable, save for the brief
and soft together that closed our eyes.

Advertisements

Please leave feedback

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s