Little islands in her eyes, those celestial pearls,
rock and shake with hot earthquakes and liquid fire
of angst and desire, fear and trepidation —
Or is it elation? — It catches her off guard as she slips
into the shadows of her aching nightmares; her love affairs
that tweaked and twisted the rhythm of her life,
like a knife, into a birdsong of hope and renewal.
She’s such a fool!
In her torn and shattered cavern of yearning and anger,
she lingers and whispers to the company of ghosts
whose energy remains and stains the walls with a scent of sage
and rosemary, a mystery of exaltation and obscurity.
Little starlit rockets in her eyes, those enigmatic gems,
burst and break with a force of a thousand rivers
raging with ruthless and savage abandon, then stranded
with no sea to call home.