like the blush from the rose
as dusk fades to velvet hues
the longing, fresh as warm
blood, drawn from wounds
refusing to heal.
the desire like hunger deep,
clawing at the edge of
the sun’s brilliant face,
slipping from heaven’s grasp
as day is relinquished
to Old Moon.
hand as he leads me into the other
world, that place where the me
I know is greater than any sorrow.
stronger than my sense of loss,
his voice whispers that my will can
move me beyond the harsh color of pain
as he places a clean brush in my hand,
pointing me to tomorrow’s blank canvas.