I can feel your sound though the vapid spaces
And haunted intervals
Of this organic tedium.
When light refuses to provide us anymore glory,
At the doorstep of desire
And lay a wounded prayer at your feet.
I dreamt of you
Nets for our fish
Which escaped my womb in tandem.
Their slow and steady grace
Crushed the column of our demons
I hope to be warmed by the fire
Or sip the nectar of your song.
Charlene Jenelle Grant-Stuart