And light fell in hushed gentle folds

The knowledge of things to come was silenced in the tail of dusk

For her eyes chose to shine like a newly born babes

As if a metaphor to the question he drew across her lips:

In slow gentle strokes that bled the whiteness of her

In slow silent trickles that would be her baptism

And wherever he fell upon her

It was like the dew kissing the morning earth

But she failed to blossom under each purple blemish

For whiteness he served in glasses of wine

Then he showed her the damask of his soul

And that her smile would soothe his every sting

Thus they started a cycle that flowed in half a circle

Dancing through life from one end of a smile to the other

The curve of rightness

The sun couldn’t take her eyes off them

And when winter came

Bringing with her the heat of buried embers

The earth closed her eyes

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