(steam)
Your damp voice slipped against
mossy edges made of limestone.
soil-sullied water beaded, then plunked
but did not deter the tone — the sweet,
coppery taste of blood
remains a memory — my own
shadow-smudged candle sputters,
searing the edges of our fading elegy
dragged like yelping dogs long past
the time that earned-love has burned
down to soot-smeared and soggy ash;
snatched away as quickly
as a soaring eagle steals a rabbit,
spied and zeroed in on —
no time to run, no time
to make more mysteries
that unravel the steaming storm
lighting the inside of our skulls
creating love's longing
one more time
by Annette Gagliardi
Published in Discretionary Love, Online March 20, 2022