Velvet Trims

Velvet trimmed night, laced up tighter than a vintage corset on a plump woman, that’s how the night  fell. Demanding and beautiful.

It was

Slate coloured, cold water down parched throat

A messenger, sweet cries of a birth

A canopy, firm grasp of a hand

An invisible rain, a shower of lights

Expectant, a sea swell’s freeze

A storm, brewing in a teacup

A prayer, darkened by age

A charge, forever waiting, never acting

A tension, blooming and blossoming.

Night is,

A world, that is

Balanced delicately

On one side is morality

On the other sanity









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