Of a Dilated Pupil

The soul of the soles of your feet
Greeted as they meet
The soul of the old-
Cold
Concrete.

Such a dark, sweet-sight

Meeting my sight
At this
Sacred-site,
A very-scary sight
To the blind-
Bound
To
No vision/no sight.

But not tonight.

As the maze of your gaze
clarifies, aright, alight
in that which burns bright in the shadows.
Shed in skin, whispering candle-wax fluctuations,
reminiscence-reminiscent, your scent: Rising
to the risers which uphold
chains-dangling
over

Your soul.  

***
C/B
BD
SM
****