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May 2016
The voice calling me from the dark
Is quiet
Its melody thrums through my bones and tongue
And curls, purring in my heart
Like wine it flushes my cheek with uninhibited warmth
It calls me to action
Reckless self endangering action
Not all voices from the dark are kind.
This one glows like a black sun.
Biting back the fear of warmth and contact
In my touch starved living canvas
The voice has teeth
Teeth that set in my spine and inject courage into my marrow
That scrape ever so slightly down my neck
In wanton display
Of seductive darkness.
Its call is haunting
Sleepworn it sends me running
Through a silver forest of dusky light
Upon an unbroken path
Marked only by whispers that linger in Its wake.
I know not what I’m following
I know its power and magnitude brings summer to my throat and winter to my veins
Spring blooming warm upon my cheeks along the shivering pines
That voice of silk sheets and twisted limbs
A weight in the chest like a secondary heart’s phantom thumping
Throbbing its call of life back to that voice in the dark
Inviting it in for a taste.
Yasha Harkness
Written by
Yasha Harkness  21/Non-binary/New Delhi
(21/Non-binary/New Delhi)   
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