Vine and Sand

he shed a line of crystalline notes
each incandescent half-step
more unexpected than the last

a high, winding vine
creeping from an unseen branch
tendrils tendering my neck
taking root within my chest

his melody sweeps into a golden desert
of glass sand and endless thirst
and hot wind slipping in and out of me

I spin on burning soles
to avoid his lashes
I claw at the constricting song
to breathe again

© 2018 Stellular Scribe

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