dangle from her pearly lobes.
She wears them on days when she is sated
with sumptuous, quartzy, sparkly,
Veils of silicon
Caressing the dunes,
A soaring, swelling, swirling cyclone,
the fragrance of Jasmine
on its warm breath…her perfume.
Or when she feels
like a falling stellar stone,
spit and vinegar,
with a certain brilliant trajectory.
She is the intersection of sand and fire,
revealing lustrous facets in verde glass.
Considering her lovely
razor honed edges,
she wonders wistfully,
could she be fit for his silver pendant?
He does not favor an ancient hammer mount,
molding and shaping her for an exact fit.
He honors her Tiffany setting,
prongs, capacious, commodious,
allowing for light to surround her,
so she can flash her prismy smile.
Delightfully zephyrus, the draft that billows
the flounce of her skirt.
Wool socks, goosebumps on bare legs,
love is a lavish freedom.
Emeralds cascading across blue velvet,
like the grass flung out into a sapphire sky
by the mower on a summer morning.
She wears them on days when she feels like this,
tittering, “What a strange and wonderful thing.”
© M.G. Iannucci 2017