Thoughts and Visions

via Photo Challenge: Focus

9

She peeks through the crimson of my lonely thoughts, with mischief yet shy,

Like a diffident bride holding on with bloodless knuckles to peeling garments on wedding night.

I wonder at her wavering emotions, at times a foaming sea, at times a passive bay.

And if I held her fire in an embrace, she’d likely turn me to ashes,

Though winning her, is all I wished, I’d gladly die without a fight.

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