Tell Me

how our stories cross

in a lattice weave,

the intimate places 

they leave open,

for sheaves to cascade

onto the parchment floor.

.

a paper door

painted with the traces,

of past lover’s faces,

a glass half spilled,

will be refilled,

by the soul’s world curled

and enfolded in

our melded skin,

birch leaves quivering

on the moaning wind.

.

© M.G. Iannucci 2017


Painting: Tango Lovers by Nik Helbig

12 thoughts on “Tell Me

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