One, covered in glitter like
dust, is ancienne. Aged. Cheese
and wine, from countless parties.
Revelry for existence, and how far
The other, a dance on bare feet.
Tip-toeing around the other,
ever outward. Every whirling dervish
secret that we can’t predict, like nature.
Cosmic, and hungry.
One, dried petals, and a rusty
bike chain. Old freedoms, given
in offering. Burnt auburn sunset
hair, tied back.
The other, moments raging
like the sun which only can spread.
Everything looks still from afar,
yet, you know the sparkle means something
special is brewing. An ocean stews
up a storm, just for you,
you lioness. You firebird.