i can’t see you
the spring’s floral certitude
showers petals in my eyes
lingers on veils forgotten at the altars
dreams interpret the language of cicadas
somebody plays the violin in the green room
like a flamenco dancer in Seville
i toss and turn inside my soul
your breath scatters on my neck
i stretch my arms to harvest poems
tongues of fire from your eyes
linger on my silky dress
i fall
rose thorns bite my thighs
it smells earth and grass from an old spring
i turn the page
i close my eyes
and i can see you

@short-prose-fiction

image: Stadnikova Mariya; Shutterstock; [link]