retrograde serenade

it’s the kind of midnight drenched with mist; the lake’s
adrift as if woven of gossamer, the delicate
fingertips of venus herself reaching
from the fan faired teeth
of baptism,
sugar

coated eyelids peel like the ripest skin
aglow with the moon piercing wryly
pupils plucked from the sky like
luminescent grapes to be
devoured one by
one

it’s only when multiple destinies collide with limbs
cut from strings all the sudden diluting every
grayscale aswirl with shades of indigo;
a violet to set every upturned
retina alight
that

we realise it’s only the brightest that can cast the
darkest of shadows in broad daylight, after all
the tears have turned to devotion, comes
a wet but dry, lukewarm kind of fever
chill, a coin mid toss, an ever
thinning veil between
realms and real-
-ities

retrograde serenade

illuminating everything; amethysts aflame,
tresses asway, a different kind of wild,
a celestial ring of fire, the scene;
already set, the game;
already played
all that

remains is the truth of your reflection in
the breath of another, the golden
daylight hiding in the cracks
of the mirror you were
only dancing with
yourself all
along