Slips
it slips her frame
the tiniest falls of water
cascade her curves
fingertips scratch
the liquid skim
trembled tremors timbre's
over the tensile taut
green splinters
in slashes of light
does she float
or does the water
raise her in their hands
in a hero's praise
its hold
of her reflection
just too long
Copyright © Christopher Quigley | Year Posted 2022
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