Tale Weaver #39 – Shadows


She rides the soles

Of my quickening boots,

An ink stain,

A Rorschach, a silhouette

Churning in ambivalent light.

I fear that she does not

Love me anymore.

She envies my density

And I in turn the wisp

Of her figure for it knows not

The duplicity of angles.

Wherever I go she accompanies

Without resolve or solicitation

But in recent months

I have come to sense

Her displeasure.

I find her out of sync,

Ill-fitting and I think

That we are growing apart.

It’s a lack of communication,

These things always are,

But when I press her

She refuses to speak.

In time she’ll undress me

Find her way into my heart

And take root as all those before.

In time the color will fade

From my eyes and then the eyes

From my face and I’ll become her.