A Higher Plane

An eyelash on his cheek
curves your world
and late tonight
scrutinized by sketchy shadows
and light pooling in your bed sheets
you will brush it away
in your dreams
with hands like his
of papery music unlocked from a paged grave
with elephant tusk and dark wood keys
and fingers of frozen willow leaves
breaking with every strike.
shattering on every note.
He is caged in a menagerie of promise
chained to a balloon of ideas
and the music box plays a solitary tune
as the helium years float him

up

up

and away


A while ago I posted a poem entitled "Eyelashes", but it was just a jumbled assimilation of thoughts on eyelashes with no connection. This poem is based on the first short one in "Eyelashes", but expanded upon. I hope to do the same with the others. Hope you enjoyed! Bella