like silk

hot soft the water runs in mist,
the mirrors folded in a cloud;
as towel-bedraped and lensless, i,
still cut and scraped from law and crowd,

come in. and there one precious is –
a music like a new perfume,
a crystal glass filled up with years,
a still-that bride for yet-my groom —

like knives the day,
like silk the night;
like midnight storms
and candlelight –

as lost as we,
through entropy,
we cross a bridge
of silken ecstasy

how comes the passing eidolon
to hands that on her back must play?
what pulls the dusk into the night
of after stars and tear away?

for open eyes will close in joy
and feelings follow feeling,
as meanings live in what is meant
and sense is made for reeling –

like knives the day,
like silk the night;
like midnight storms
and candlelight –

as lost as we,
through entropy,
we cross a bridge
of silken ecstasy

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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