She hangs a harmonious
past in visualised frames;
stacks of nursery-rhyme novels filled with
kisses and bedtime stories of princesses,
lotus flowers blooming in the swampy
night beneath emerald rubied hills, and
ponds with geese flying, clouds erasing
v-shaped in migration.
Smoke curls her fingertips by candlelit evenings;
is there a fire which has been forgotten?
In depth, cobalt cold, temporary
on this evening,
her velvet coat creates
a lissom swell on her thighs.
She walks where sidewalks
meet the road in intimacy.