dancing down from the firmament. A ballet, swirling bouquet of jasmine, teal and blustery gray rain days; I am a struggling Cartesian metaphor doubting my own existence.
She is tingling triangles tremulous between
a rising baritone brass and a Dizzy lung crescendo. A promenade Madonna's twilight glint--a wink. I am a shudder shoulder moment fourteen feet away; a falling glass of liquid memories on ice.
She is a wild call beneath a sauntering
solstice moon. A pondering wanderer skipping stones beneath my tripping feet. I am bungled, a sandy column of ancient marble dissipating in the hot breath of a summer hermetical.
We are lopsided, turned around. Sparkling
ruby promises of childhood shattering beneath anxious, wooden toes. One hand gripping dancing fingers, one hand reaching for the exit. We are highly compressed stardust dancing down from the firmament--