Love Strands

A dove wisp daydream – 

in the reflective space  

of sweat and tears.  

A strand of hair tied  

around your pinkie toe  

murmurs "hello it’s me". 

The humidity of daylight  

grasped in his palm. 

Entangled in our conversations,   

there is something worth saying. 

You are radiation captured  

in my dreamcatcher. 

Entrapped in my fine vase  

stolen, meshed in   

memory fibres –– 

too personal to recount.   

You are the mystery  

under my bra-strap, 

the gaps in a tattoo 

and reality in a sun flare — 

the space the sun skips.  

Years spent indulging  

in eyes and lips, sleeping on  

dove-feathered cream piles,   

palms indented with tightly   

pressed fingernails.  

You are like shattered glass  

under my tongue, and I chew.  

Klimt-like in love 

it becomes mosaic.   

Everything we have done 

and will do.