Lost in Translation

my heart bleeds

burgundy

transcribed filigree

etched in the lining

as i read

an earthy calligraphy

the sweet comet’s tale

of blue and you

a finger traced

at the rim

of destiny’s cuffed hem

desire is Love’s expression

never born of deprivation

and i understand

in the palm

of the Host’s hand

the turning

of hour glass sand

and the tender part

in the heart of Man

.

© M.G. Iannucci 2018

There is no such thing as decadence if you simply accept what you are given, all of it, in balance, a defining of the fine line.

Painting: “The Perfect Evening” by Anna Rose Bain

15 thoughts on “Lost in Translation

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