The Reader

His voice

is the night

my eyes dilate

as if under the influence

of too much wine

His voice

is the night

weaving moonbeams

into words

that flicker

and illuminate the dark

that otherwise

would surely consume

the last star, leaving no dust

His voice

is the night

his words

wash over me

like whiskey in my blood

making me limber and free

and I dance

with a grace

I do not posses

~Melanie Thomason

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Filed under Poetry, reblog

4 responses to “The Reader

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