Dancing Upon the Lips of the Awe-Stuck, or, How to Play Upon an Open Mouth

The evenings have been jeweled as of late.  Wide, see-through-blue skies looming over the petals of royal purple, delicate pinks, blossoming whites.  Such an alluring perfume that spreads just as the evening unfurls into night.

There has been a strange sorcery as of late.  Conjuring up the jawlines and perfectly scarred hands of those I miss, in the flesh. Something with this global warming nightmare has given us a second spring.  The messages that are slipped between (and among) us leaves the tips of my neurons peaked. Such a delicious depth beyond the usual curiosity.

Take in the expanse of these evening skies. Let their wide-spread and rubied hands lure you into the dark of night. Surely you will catch the glints of the diamonds scattered across that velvet as you descend.

By the time you hit whatever ground there is
if there is
the iron taste in your mouth will tell you
that it was all

worth it.



-k.

(image: Archie Savage, 1942, photographed by Carl Van Vechten)