Exhibition

The memory of your hands
lingers, like oil from a lantern

lighting the path to my room,
your innocence left impressions
upon which I stumbled —

white gardenias pushed against the pane
separating us from where we
longed to lay out and stare at the

Moon rather than the photos of
a man’s face as spectacle;

the blood moon split with
red orange profits
pulpy and cold, awaiting

fatum in your projection,
pushed my hands against it,

feeling petals give way through
glass drowning myself in

your persistent, clean notes mingled
with hyacinth, musk and hibiscus.

Your warm breath upon the dawn
like soil, like earth, the first

caress, hanging from each eyelash
as your delicate mouth settles to a smile.

Exhibition

jjgmail

Joined January 2008

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