The Puppet Master
satin sheets slide off
the desk notes fall
softly like petals
as the Maestro
humms along
the symphony
directing
each movement
Summer shimmers
Luna glistens
through shiny panes
the puppet master
raises the silence
hands charter the poignant
sensually inked in mind
the words flutter in the throat
rising like nightingale wings
singing to the Maestro's
feathery quill is an angel falling
racing across the ecstacy
along the face of the other
like a clock watched
the hands on a body
tracing each moment
the eyes worship
the reflection
in each the other
she sings an opera
to the puppet master
like it's the end
of an old world
like something exotic taken
milky orchid datura nightshade
scent of pearl in moonlight
starlit in the morning
lips taste the kiss
to another life
underneath
the layers
time shifting
into another
she unfurls
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"And the day came
when the risk to remain
tight in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took to blossom"
Lakme. Flower.
Anais Nin. Blossom.
Strings. Puppet Master. Delibes.
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