hair coiled like ammonites
she hangs
suspended
steeped in nostalgia –
memories darkening around her,
twining smoke,
blind to the fading photograph,
the dust gathering,
the echoes scattering
like sunlight on water
my paper nautilus adrift
on the turbulent ocean
endlessly spiralling
inward
seeking depth
Mish is hosting quadrille night at dVerse, the poets’ pub. The word is “steep” but the prices aren’t. Boom boom.
