by David Hanlon
after Björk’s “Vespertine“
Cradled on autumn’s leaf-couch,
his feathered arms hold me—
soft as moth wings,
a spark leaps from his fingertips,
painting the room violet-green,
a neon ballet above the fire.
From his glowing nest,
I watch light unfurl,
my heart strung like pearls—
a necklace I place on him.
He wears it;
his dance flares brighter.
I drink his vesper magic,
let it spin and flicker—
the room shimmers inside me.
I glide, swan-smooth,
across the still lake of his devotion—
each glass of his water,
an aurora quenching desire.
David Hanlon is a poet from Cardiff, Wales. His work has appeared in numerous journals and magazines, including Rust & Moth, Anthropocene, and trampset. His debut full-length collection, “Dawn’s Incision”, was published by Icefloe Press.
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