Winter winds lash the trees,
the clouds sail, schooners
on an obsidian sea,
shimmering stars, sparkling dots,
pulsing to music of the universe,
echoed in our beating hearts–
remnants of other worlds
gone for a millennium,
here in your arms curled around me.
I’ve never written a quadrille, but I was intrigued by the idea–a poem of 44 words exactly. This is for dVerse, and we were to use the word “curl” in the poem.