Life With Horace

poetry & essays

The Scarf

2 Comments

The eye sees silk,
watered green perhaps,
hanging loose over
oiled bamboo, and waits
for a breath to set it floating.
A sail slowly calling to the skin,
conjuring weightless cover
settling without fanfare,
suddenly warm when it rests
on cheek, or arms, or flanks,
then sparking shivers as
a hand pulls it slowly away.

Author: Life With Horace

Poetry & Essays

2 thoughts on “The Scarf

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