her wrist bears a set of golden bracelets
with bells and woven beads
light blue with a tangle of red
it goes with her dreadlocks
and the trinkets woven into her hair
beads and baubles
there is amongst other treasures
on the edge of one of her dreads
a tiny box
within a small face
made of pewter
old as lord nelsons prize at the nile
old as the length of a pewter mans dream
i am the pewter man and
the absence of her perfume on the air
is the absence of my soul
and my heart labors
how will i push the pen forward
can i even breath without her near