I was thinking of her coming.
A faint light in the darkened night
where sounds run faster.
I stare transfixed and silent
white orb whispers. I am afraid,
Though I will it forward.
A craft, a wondrous new species
of lightness – small and fragile.
Ethereal spires of pink cotton candy.
Steady forward pleasure moves with
Whispers low, passing high, the sharp
Sphere floats in black soup, but there
Are no cosmic travelers. Only a low whine
of turbines, hello or goodbye. Flashing red,
Twinkling blue. A quiet blackness returns.
Our heavens twinkle and blink.
Denim drops. Silken waist glows.
These moments of clear darkness
The lover knows.