“Delicate words, delicate souls.
I remember … but it was a long
time ago,” she’d say with a sigh.
Just as pearls thread a nightfall path
along a woman’s lustrous neck
that, were it a garden, would point
to an alabaster fountain in its heart
while the twilight is slowly being let
to revel away amid gilded stripes
laid down on the beds by fanned lights
from the spearing and setting sun,
there are other moments too when
beauty binds us through the eyes
as they welcome their descant’s fill.
But can you see and find in turn
who on earth is so gently couched
in the tacit woman’s umbrous eyes?
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