She soars backwards

as the guilty

gusty light drifts

from Her eyes, to

sink below Her

fast rising breasts

-

Hand reflexing,

slides the smooth bones

of a wrist, twirls

them about each

other, as leaves

dance with lampposts

-

the smoke of a

white dress swirls right

round, and between,

Her legs, binding

them wetly tight

(not that such was

necessary)

-

Her head coasts down,

downwards  and down

crushing the rough

porcelain of

uncased pillows,

freeing the dust

as a halo,

then settling

upon the pool

of blood, spreading

on the bed that

sprawls desperate

across the floor,

diving, eager

to catch Her, to

keep Her slight, pale

frame from sliding

right through, slipping

between, the loose

and shifting boards

of the still floor

-

Her palm slaps the

cool linen, floats

on its surface,

cracks into veins,

expands drifts and

quickly dissolves

-

Her eyes, heavy

now, but their light

smile, might watch time,

float away.