Combing Her Hair

With each stroke of the brush
luxurious tracings held serenely;
rhythmical extensions of an ageless gesture become a subtle reprimand  
to actions hurried without awareness.

It seemed she heard
the transcendent while
twilight melded from opal to violet;
indifferent to my nearness,
oblivious to my presence.

As if a visionary had murmured something
worth dying for but not too lofty to share.

A sublime smile Leonardo captured,
and only women possess,
purled across her mouth with an
intimacy of the sacred.

She rose,
pulled down blinds,
spoke words like lute notes in amber,
floated gently as a sunset moth
onto the pillow, where our heads lay
pressed together, even though I felt
forlorn, still, not understanding what is
surely inexplicable.