EVENING WITH PARASOLS

Beth.

I am not gauged by your passion
yet feel a verging on delight
when you afford me visions
sans cloth

.

                        The mill of repose
weaves
an article of such blind wonder
as even to the dark
they sense

the scent of color you signify

.

I fear little but the tinner
and his tympanic hammer

rending with precise concussion
the fabric of your night sleeve.

A ruby drops.