Sound at the Door

Just a look across the room is all
it took for me to angle weightless
towards your pull’s direction, aligned
cardinal East along your cherry-brown
eyes, for the night’s blanket of stars
meshed with the waves of your
hair when I knocked on the door
opening; that look in your eyes –
like the way the afternoon’s sun shone
lost against an abstruse angle of pure
declination, revealing imperiled golds
above the lost pinks of your lips, those
agents of Ache within a cloak of dawn,
you became the unforbidden fruit of a desire
I never knew I had until the first kiss, like
Endlessness had gathered in the small of our hands

 
 
 

© K. James Ribble

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