titian tints of summer yield
forgetting and embracing
wind and rain,
winter would come with shackles
a home,
citadel of seclusion
sphere light bulbs and ticking clocks
here you can contemplate
the different shades of life
and it’s own complex fate,
grey heart beats,
distilled whiskey poured in
glass streaked by fingers
that once touched face,
without silken words
she would return
and the fevered mind would clear
moments of indiscretion
reshape reform
music would attract,
moth like fluttering in her heart
and the once broken tongue
would speak again
healing a process
begun
velvetmedia 