The Falling Runes of Fantasy

I stop, centralized in a stance of bold-cold  
supplanting the shadow over your shoulder, breathing-perceiving  
scapes & shapes in the shallow  
breath which escapes your being.
 
Blindfold as inducement of seeing.  
 
Reaching for a session of secession.
Fingers as flower petals, unfurling in aires of airs.
Wrist to wrist, veins strained with a rush of blush.
Your supple-skin a crushed-flush, underlying hues a revolution of perfusion.
 
You a visage, circulating veins in dominion & domains.
 
I follow frequencies  
Circulating your veins  
Speaking in cosmic tunes  
Peekng in falling runes