Perfect Images
the soul’s eyes
hold perfect images . . .
long hair
in fiery screams
snow/ice suspended -
breathless - drifting
stellar flashes;
white teeth,
dark, dove eyes
slices of sun, juice
drips from your lips
and skin...
prismatic beads
slip around your feet
sift through hands
shatter the stars,
crash the moon,
there’s a stutter
deep inside . . .
pause the heart
(long enough)
to make me believe
again,
in love
Deborah Russell, © 2005
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