Fiamma puts flowers in her hair,
lights have been extinguished.
You’ve changed the course … shifted.
As a lock of red hair falls over her shoulder,
fruit is sliced open as walls weep
perfume contained inside them.
A pounding as he exits on a spiral staircase.
I am falling into myself, no escape.
Unraveling each part
of a painting hanging upside down.
Tiles have cracked under foot,
a crevice is opening up.
Fiamma puts her flowers in my hand.
She has lit the candles,
placing them far out of reach,
as a lock of red hair falls over her eye …
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
2 years ago