Echo Muses 4.

The evanescent sparks

Pyrite in the night                                                                                                                                      well spent on gin lips.
Seductive as a lime-twist,
you feed my ego senselessly.
I dye my thoughts to fit your rapturous—
indigo fizzle
fingers unbent
erect
until your index touch
curls them into rhythm
crushing us back
in a swirl cloud
of crystal dust.
The comedown oblique as before
until in dreams,
I’ll usher in…
mining for your immersion.

Poem and Image: Naomi Ruth S. W.

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