Adorned in his button down
The curve of her back
As she eagerly leans over her lap
Where his freshest open wound lay
A flower to her nourishment drawn
A petal hovering above
Anticipating the page’s turn
Hair held up by a yellow no. 2
Save a languorously dangling curl
Persistently insistent on reading along
Backlit by the fleeing sun
Who perhaps fears his written word
She betrays her position
With a finger’s pause on the paper
As her lips subtly recall bearing witness
His pacing has stopped
It never gets him anywhere
Wounds notably heal as he watches her read
As he reads her every angle and nod
Ashamed that her eyes might see him witless
Eyes so intense and intelligent
Holding the page like it was his hand
A sparkle of dusk, dew manifests on the blooms
She understands the darkness before her
There’s hope hiding and love in the lines, a coming dawn
art: Story by Monika Luniak
So lovely as usual
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(:
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Damn! Your words.
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No, *your* words. And I’ll not soon grow tired of hearing that particular one, in that particular way. Thank you (:
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Your words are always sharp.
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And yours melt mellifluously
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“Backlit by the fleeing sun
Who perhaps fears his written word”
❤
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Thank you (:
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