Red-Glow

Icing chocolate-pastry-textured squares,

Coves contained within wisdom wrinkled cliffs of dermis.
Touched with the tender care of creating hands,
Set not in stone but a likewise hard substance.

Eyes, eyes, windows and doors:
Spluttering candles litter the shed floor, but
That is the landscape of the hub.
Multiple breaths billow and sway the Indian-cloth
Keeping the rest away from the red-glow.

A world away now, but the coves still feel the same.

Cold glass does not lessen the swell of bloated skin,
Nor lessen the significance

Cold ices do not lessen the pierce of remembering mind.
There is only now to feel.

[oops, concieved when on holiday in Qld. silly ...]