The air wasn’t there…
she breathed rhapsody.
Touch lingered in quivering echo,
ecstasy holding tight.
Gossamer strands of light,
Intimacy with rays.
Discovering what it was to feel.
Had she become real?
Lacerating had been bleeding herself alive.
Hope’s fingertip healed scars,
another kiss said she wasn’t alone.
©March 2020, Christina Anne Hawthorne