upon the water of the moon
you speak words of indigo
between which i touch your breath
and thread it amidst the speechless mirror
that does not reflect our taboo trysts.
spread on snow, you dip your
whispering feather into ink black
and at the nape begin the fifteenth scroll.
you photograph my cheekbone's imprint
and place it behind the black candle
that bleeds shadows.
hush, columns of corridor, hide her
nylon form amidst the swirls.
embrace braille, he will, to fondle her
and enter the jewelled doorway.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
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