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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