legerdemain

 

legerdemain

 

slowly circling, slowly circling, tongue flicking out, flicking in, fringes of my cheek an old tasseled rug and syllables whistling through it like kettle steam, don’t leave, don’t leave us, air rushes from the hole through which you hooked me, i am hushed, our vision kept close to vest, blush of our promise fled your breast, what’s left, fast-fingered my heart your palm to next, i am left guessing an illusionary conjuring before my eyes while faith gathers necessary branches to withstand another long night alone inside my ribs.

 

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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

 

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