a phase.

the moon is on surveillance

burning diamonds of pale
across my skin and sheets
and I cannot look away

“they think I am a soulless orb,”
she whispers in my ear

I dream she is a portal
and I ascend through glass,
finding my way back

© 4.26.2013 heather brager

still.

there is beauty, still
we will recognize a pattern
misplaced and returning, always

we create primary structures
from echoes at dusk
the clink of his fork on a plate
a glass held up to lamplight
or touching her thighs

we will collide
bending, and we will descend
waking again in the morning
mimicking and
cursing the dawn


© 4.5.2013 heather brager