First Glance

First Glance

Chilled rain comin’ down
beat my skin like ice
cold air blowin’ round
slivers, silver slice the lights

The flashing signals;
throbbed on wetted streets
stopped me thinking;
heard a heart beat;

warm illumination on faces
eye shine tracers fluxing in shadows
blue fire burning through the blushed red
pierced me like an arrow;

A blue stare, pierced me like an arrow

Rain

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Francesca Woodman

Spun in nautilus shadows,
reared back into small
spiral smears of misty flesh
with eyes rolling
behind world’s luminous smile;
behind you.
Her image, a motif;
a bowl, a glove,
a bird, a mirror;
Her breasts ablaze
in spilling light
oozing onto the
lead grey tones
sweeping where corpse
or ghost host whims
of gothic admiration.
I am soaked in surreal blurs.
Her’s is a white vapor
permeating paranormal plains.
Shudder exploits,
evoking subtle pain,
bathing nude in silky dust.
Embrace of disintegrating
ruins and rustic
neutral haze, silver
burnishes, washing
her blazing heart,
leaving passions
actively spiraling
into the eclectic underground
forever six feet
above where she lay.