Her face next to mine, moist lips to my ear,
whisper more than wisp, softer than wind chime.
More like warm breeze caressing chandelier,
crystal beads shivering, their prisms sublime
with refracted light’s silent shattering,
scattering like fireflies across dark walls,
sacred bedroom’s domed ceiling, flattering
ancient gods who bless this space, the great All,
this light to her eyes, my eyes, and through us,
recalling, renewing blazing candles
of our origins. What force can construe
such power in a whisper? Command spells
to propel our passion, calm our desires,
lie basking in warmth of chandelier’s fires?
Roger Armbrust
November 9, 2013
