Behind the Front Door Volume 3, October, 2013. | Page 26

Flavescent

By Kevin. J. Nolan

A colourable moon perspires down

on a foreign country.

A road surrounds an Anglican church;

the door swings open and a distant high pitched sound gets higher.

The air is wet with Ave Marias: a solitary singer, searchingly fingers her soul and moans low while city foxes dash by dizzy and wild-eyed with questioning snouts.

Sitting near on footpath

are two people, in love, smiling at each other, knowing each other emphatically.

In one beats a heart:

it’s drawers swing open and shut in slow motion, catch imaginary snowflakes, which melt and leak down to collect in the swells of her eyes

opening like butterflies

The others heart

is wet with vitality, desperate in it’s countenance

opening and reaching out to her like a legousia flower to the heat

of flavescent moonlight.

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