As she lowers herself, I am engulfed,
lost in the heady scent of bayberry,
invigorating wintergreen cypress,
her eyes are the same color as her song,
both melodies lilt timeless intervals,
eternity comes in thrusts and parries,
strands of hair curl down the backs of dancers,
there where palms lie, in the small near the nape,
above the slight dimple, below the heart,
there where the part is forever removed

cc: Chagall 2022