Movie
You return in sequences;
as a bit-part in my movie.
Peripheral memories nod
like wire-sprung dipping birds.
Your golden triangle
the V of your asking,
my mouth to lips intoxication
is an opiate of drenched blooms
that are still not dry.
I am reprising scenes
cut from any official showing.
I live now in a distant camera lens
and cannot make it back
to those moments
nevertheless,
some scenes whir on
under tightly closed eyes.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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