Shadow Play
Evening turns to mime -
you emerge from its cameo artistry,
your dark unraveled hair cajoles
in a lamp shaded theater.
Moments clash together.
A denuding madness is ungloved,
a palpable heat mauls.
Long into the cleaving night
unsheathed and reckless,
flesh sings its serpentine songs,
waterfalls plunge into unleashed rapids,
hard ridden gestures
disown all gentle speech.
After the blood blushed tangle,
a listless languor.
We listen to the footloose night
as it slips into velvet slippers,
we ride the tide of a waning moonglow,
our hands shadow play,
mimicking the gossip of bare walls.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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