Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Silver hoop swings
against
the apple of her cheek.
Her eyes
move past mine
on a tangent
to an unmarked spot
waist-high on the wall.
My words hang
suspended
twisting the air
between us.

Thoughts,
fabrications
whirling her mind
sketched on
her face,
strike a resonant chord
at my heart.
Whispering fingertips
trace
the outline of my lips
with sadness;
No remnants remain
of the arcing-electric...

Blurred vision
drops well to my eyes, and
our circle is broken,
still warm of her flesh,
it rolls across the floor.

fine writing. i like the format and content - sad, moving. i especially like the lines that close the stanzas.