sifted remains in the underside
of her onyx and gold ring,
held up clean and ivory-bottomed
to the thinning daylight.
gather and melt into
almost forgotten face held between
happy winter-mittened hands
of lover-years before.
petal and wilt in soft curtains to become
brown eyes that believed
the tips of the flames in the fireplace
were fey plans of mischief,
crackling wisps and bathing the air
with faded magik laughter.
the only kind to use against her skin;
she's complete and 23, in a place
where long silences are a joy,
pitch darkness is a blessing and
his love is a release
from the weary weapons of the days.