The burn-end brushed her —
She, in the dark — She and a faint orange arc —
She in sleepless combustion pared
to a lift, a breath — brief
flared crescents of cheek, nostril,
her hunched shoulder wanes,
and her fingers coiled
on a thought that sparks orange
in her eye, before the ember fades,
sags down to a slow still blaze
between knuckles, long ash and gray rage.
Image: Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
wow, i loved this!