Love is an illusion, he once read,
that anyone is different from anyone else
but behind the screen,
the way she arched her back
and moved her hips to the melodic
tin of the brass horn
was deeply convincing,
like Salome with her many veils
revealing secrets he dared not dream.
It was enough, he thought,
to have known the color,
have felt the texture
of that cloth.


About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: