8 flights of fancy

When I saw the strip
images of you
I was caught in the unfamiliarity
of lines I had never encountered
and the reports of your words
I had never heard
rehearsed my responses
lay meaningless on the floor

the lines of conflict chiselled
into your happy skin
bent around the knuckles
I never saw you use whispering
grey lines draw themselves into
the ledge over your soul
doors full not empty I
fantasized I had passed through

life hangs oversized and knotted
to retain its shape
since yours left those tiny scars on
fingers manicured adorned
with a band of what mattered
one day the drum loosened
in my dream and subsequently
yours my skin touches your hair.

Text: © J. L. Nash, 2011
Images: © Ulrich Lindenthal


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