Feted metres of sudden consciousness,
counting strands of light on fingertips
and rays of light that light the dust
and highlight the crisscross floor.
A ringing phone, the call to arms,
delayed momentos rested and ready
like crumbled bleu cheese amid chilled glass
dark wine, colored by light and sun and its surroundings.
The predesigned lesson set to open eyes and minds
it penetrates the curtains and the golden tinsel, fresh and new
aligned with perfume, nature and restive bodies,
choreographed and matching, like ballet in its simplistic sophistication.
Candles expire without witness,
its currant overtones and the hollowed glass
the sole evidence of our night and our day,
our sweat and our smiles left and erased
to be replaced again with reciprocity and inevitable perfection.
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