Final Equinox

Teetering on the edge of the sublime,
Primed to carve from her flesh
An impossible rhyme
In deference only
To his sybaritic delight,
Eagerly, she twists
Nobly, she turns
Stoically, she curls

Begging for a glance to unfurl.

Raging through the labyrinth
Of those, who like he,
Have yet to break free
From the chains that impair
Their ability to see,
His tie, rests just so,
As if to neither choke
Nor divine success, forego—

A coffin nail, he flicks at her feet.

Another season, another frost,
Her tortured body seeking
Neither glory, nor Pentecost.
Still, sinuously alive, the courting ensues:
Her limbs twisting, stretching, contorting
Into something new
As she wills him in vain
To imbibe her gratis debut:

Petals of pink velvet flanking his shoes.

A smart houndstooth coat,
Woolen-silk blend,
More refined, more subdued
Though still blind to her bend.
There’s no time to engage her
Or the hat he once tipped;
A million eyes hexed
By the curse of a click—

His essence defined by her absence of queue.

Neglected, rejected
In the prime of her youth,
An allegretto-turned-scream
Acquiesces to truth. 
Still, a few remaining tresses,
Mementos embossed,
Plead to be regarded
Pending her final equinox—

His nescient steps drenched in the essence of her.

The overextended arch
Of his now-wilted spine, 
Compels him to breathe
And to feel, and to find.
No longer seduced 
By the light of a screen,
Nor the one high above
To whom, soon, he’ll concede.

A sinful mirage of velvet ebbs at his feet. 

***

Photo left: Lauren Moore, a friend’s niece who doubles as my social media guru.
Effects right: Alina de Albergaria
pennedbyalina ©2021