Alone in dark decay and dust
on old wallpaper floors
-spark, fizz, hiss-
a scant stick on scorched fingers
the glow exposes shaky shadows
flickering against the soot
Close to the floor, concealed by cloth,
something shimmers twice
Feathers of flame dance on glistening black
wet and shimmering still waters,
They savor the silent sensation
this impassive camaraderie from the
moons in another pair of eyes.
The yawning window welcomes a gust
levitating curtains and hair.
It shatters the moment,
murders the gleam
the swain recoils and
vanishes between the cracks.