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