in low tones of
dusty rose
she spoke to me
heresy dripping
liquid gold from her lips
and to my untrained ear
it sounds like a prayer
ancient overlapping
of hollow voices in her own
she tells me
you were the one
the kind of woman
the world can’t help
but fall in love with
and she skims my arms
as she speaks
with tender feather fingers
slips into my skin
like a well worn jacket
sings sweet lullabies
one more voice
added to her mournful melody