May
Rehearsal
A woman with whom I once shared a bed asked me if I was prepared for death. I laughed, then realized she was serious. She kissed my mouth to silence me and held me down gently against the sheets. Her long hair was as soft as feathers and covered my face. My eyes closing only to awaken and find she was already in flight. A bird, but what kind? Her wings cast a white shadow spreading naked over me. Her long talons caught my grasping claws as we conjoined willingly losing our grip. Succumbing in pleasured disbelief we fell intertwined flying weightless in the sky, landing hard, buried deep inside a pillow. Left breathless, I knew what she’d meant. We had died together, transported as one. Combined. Fulfilled. Still, I was wrong. This was only a rehearsal, she whispered.
Excerpt from Light-Years in the Dark: StoryPoems (see more)
photo-art design by todd crawshaw
photo credit (model): yuri arcurs