January by Michael Charpentier
January
When she cried
Silence
Only droplets dared move
From cheek
to boulevard
to asphalt
Whisked away
To tear-jar aqueducts
We met on the avenue
Beneath peculiar skies
That showered crestfallen dew
My lenses misted
Blinded
With drops of hush
Breaking muted street-light
Into hexagon blurs
Her frail figure stood shy
Draped in rags
Her lips: fragmented, pale;
A stained glass apparition
So unlike the girl I had known:
Presence robust,
Magnificent cloak of winter-white
Her whispers roar;
Exhaled breath
Caressed my body with foreigner’s fingers
Leaving gooseflesh in their wake
Static apathy
To my being,
Still, but impatient
Glazed in the drizzle
Hesitant, I motioned for her embrace
She wrapped her fragile arms around me
An old world goddess
In need of new faith
Pressed to my chest
She sobbed unfamiliar greens
Not for pity, justice but
The touch of a lost love
I forced past the tension
And pressed my lips to hers
Was that beauty or inertia
When she looked in my eye?
We met tear-to-tear
One to another
And struck balance
Between longing and lust
She wiped the condensation
From my spectacles
Through the clear prisms
I saw an elegance revived
And a cold, perfect design
Drifted from snow clouds
She returned to the sky
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