It’s all in the wrists
all in the waking
the morning break, of eggshells
on a frying pan lip
golden yolk perfectly round
at the centre of everything.
We are not caught
by the tug of bedsheets
no fishing shards
from burnt out hours.
And I wondered
if the sight of me wavering
excited you.
Like a candle flame dancing,
your palm held
just inside the heat.
Contemplating the risk
of snuffing me out altogether.
Extinguishing that light
with one blow
one fist closing tight.
Did I excite?
Not the exact word for tonight’s Quadrille prompt, but a form of it is there, and according to the rules that’s alright.
Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay
I gathered the stones myself,
stacked them before you
like a temple offering,
my skin the sacrifice
as I bared it inch by inch
and asked for a blessing
you denied me
until the pile was fragments
and my flesh peppered
with your approval.
Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works 
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