In my dreams,
A memory comes to me:
A bitter winter
A flickering candle.
My coat is itchy against my back
And a scarf is coiled around my neck.
A young woman stands next to me by a wooden table, hunched over.
By candlelight her skin is rich, tanned
Her raven hair tainted in burning ink
Fair fingers imitating the wax sliding down the stick
Wisps of hair manipulated by the taunt of the winter breeze
A childish curiosity trapped beneath her chocolate eyes.
I remember feeling helplessly in love
And terrified
It was faint in the moment, but present
Like the candle, my love flickered
The flames appeared and disappeared again.
But still, it was powerful
My love had begun to flower, soon to bloom.
YOU ARE READING
The Spiral
PoetryA deep dive into thoughts about the universe, life, emotions and more, down an endless poetic(and sometimes not poetic) spiral. We follow various characters.
