Breath

“So much for distractions,”
was her reaction to the circumstance.

The dance of color and sound
had surrounded us

with a sort of warmth, but one
which always threatened to pull away.

Underneath everything
was the desire to play the situation

like a series of bells.
It was hell on the heart.

Part of me was in on the joke,
while another stroked the fire in her.

Electrical wires chanted psalms
overhead, against the dead air.

Her hair was washed
in autumn’s breath.

-r. miller

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