Memory flashed like strobe
lights and illuminated paths of
tangled legs; only the moon
watched us weave intricate
patterns of impassioned sighs
and scattered black lace.

Shadows settle with the
musing silence of the
immediate past: two bodies
in love with childhood naivety,
the dash of what could be.
What could be?

Predawn whispers shatter
the fragile ivory walls of
my chest, unveiling a chasm
that is yearning to feel again.