She flitted into my conscience,

a whisper from a dream.

Out of my eye’s corner, silver

and light and oddly enchanting.

Once I turned away,

yet now I follow her flight,

From a distance, and hope

she comes into my air again.

Gay and danceful, she is loudly silent

And, in her element, silently loud.


She seems to stand on the glass

of my soul on soft piercing feet

As I stand willing it to break

so that I may fly into her air.

Floating on broken wings, she is real.

This is no illusion, no perfection.

Ephemeral, every moment

in her presence is eternity.

Time remains unmoved, yet unstill.

I fantasize of consuming her,

being consumed by her,

Eaten alive, drowned and burned.

She has lifted me up,

she may bring me down,

Crashing as she hovers above, in bliss,

in quiet turmoil.


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