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.