Today the hours linger with me...
floating unconcious semiotic thought
like automatic writing it seems
mischieveous playful,pearlescent...
I rarely practice détente when time replaces intuition,
though D'ebutante'ce seems comfortably numb...
As we nip, tuck, and finally discover another D’enouement...
smoke spirals green around narcisse noir yearnings,
encircled by fire from some ancient Earth
or maybe a truth lit by ancestors,danced round long ago
I arched as I will always be sister...Terpsichore...
There is here,then...now...
then again, this burning coak which illuminates my life
has barely grazed this languidly yawning reflection...
upon reflection...
and so it falls blissfully back in fields of dreams
boxed and bound within my vessel
grounded rhythmic satorial chamber
embracing it's hidden heather
passionante enigma of all tomorrow’s dawn

(© Brielle Echo Whitney)