Mirrored

When I read Sayantan Ghosh's 'Smoke and Mirrors', my fingertips wanted to somersault into words.

And because they did, here's what came out:

when lanterns gaze up

from the face of night

my tired skin calls out

to the rough of your palms

you hide in carefully sewn pockets

as shadows cast lies

on streets of flooded gold

our distant beings evaporate

in shiny sheets of fog

that lift away to another life

where your skin beckons my palms

and our spirits march together

through miles of mirrored moonlight