A Fleet Of Shadow
In an unfamiliar meld
of rigid steel and red bricked mould,
she kindles to the portents of summer.
Whilst he sits upright on the bedclothes,
hastily buttoning a pleated shirt
and cobalt, bootlegged jeans.
She feels in vain for the mellow
plume of melting prints, as bowed fingers
trail the contour of her cheekbone. They
coax her head in sideways motion, where
she observes his movements by the
inflections of gilding light.
Fleet shadow, in rearward tilt,
steals through a tapering space, an
arm outstretched in blithe, parting gesture. A
limp sheaf of paper wealth, tossed from his palm
as though torn paper scraps, strew the
surface of his bedside table.
As prompt footfall treads its patter,
a spill of contemplation seeps by
word amongst the bleed of his benevolence.
“Save me from tomorrow,” reels their whisper,
through the remnants of hollow consort, and
the silt of a gin sodden tea cup.
--Lewis Humphries resides in Birmingham, United Kingdom. His publishing credits include Twisted Tongue Magazine, Tales from the Moonlit Path, Conceit Magazine, Everyday Poets, Ghostlight, Foliate Oak Literary, Bare Back Magazine, Franklin Christoph and The Blinking Cursor.