The simple act of a glance
on paper…

a mundane flexing of the lateral and medial rectus
that turns her rich brown irises
to focus on me…


in the atmosphere of my reality
across the storm-infused space between us
dark painted lashes and lids frame twin mirrors
that dispel the strength from my limbs
and induce
the feeling of having the breath
struck from my lungs

so is my passion for her
readily available
convoking inside me

a manifestation
of the dark flame that flickers
behind the upturned corner of her lips

the space around her
shimmers with power
her rich umber tresses
do not stir upon her shoulders
as the very air we breathe
recognizes the reverence due her beauty
and dares not move a single strand

and I

struggle to suppress
the voice inside my head
that utters
“vivat regina”

for she is not
a queen
to whom I would surrender my heart
and wield steel in her service

She is not
the painted Autumn leaf
that rides the currents of the clear air

her power is beyond the pretense
of such gentle visions


she is the force that summons both leaves
from the trees
and stars from the heavens
to rest in the cradle of the earth

and when I rest there as well
she is the
voice that will speak to me
in my silent sleep of dust

and she will tell my
heart the answers
to all the questions
it has ever asked

and some of those answers
will be

About Eric

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