Visitation

No wings
but a swift exhale of fridge-cool breath
ruffling my shoulder.

I sense your lean in,
the silent stroke of wrist, sleeve, hand
until I drift,

eyes shut
but mind still wide-eyed anxious. But then
your low hum

begins to mute
this world, lets me fill that shouty space
with gems.

Kind words of
platinum and turquoise whisper, curve, dangle
from my ear.

My woven brows
hold spoken slivers of gold, pink agate, silver.
Now, I can create.