33
Originally published in the Starsky and Hutch slash anthology zine, …Turned to Fire, produced by Idiot Triplets Press in 1994.
I told sad stories to the sky,
sought answers in the figures
birds make as they fly.
Half in shadow, half in light,
I feared the morning,
the end to solitary night.
At dawn’s first caress,
our naked bodies
create burnished patterns
upon the shared brass bed.
Birds fly overhead,
Their voices once foretold
we would form designs
of desire eons old.
I find meaning
in the color of your eyes.
What shall I call their hue?
It is some mystery ancient,
some secret shade
like Mayan blue.
Have any thoughts?
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1 comment
Beautiful.