Black Light
by Bruce • August 14, 2018 • Writings • 0 Comments
The sun rose in the west
this morning,
and the light was cold.
She spoke and the words
were backwards,
inside out,
thoughts unwound,
like strands
of a sticky web,
attaching to chaos
and confusion.
Her kiss burned his neck,
her gaze his eyes,
her touch his arm,
and sky swirled into the dark sea
as she spoke,
and he swam
for the clouds,
for the stars,
for the nebulae,
reaching for The Hand,
for deliverance from
the darkness.
But the sun rose in the west
this morning,
and the light was cold,
and sky was
sucked into the sea.
