Fingers laced against sunlight,
Watching colour flooding flesh.
A childs game of delight
Sweetness, like spring tendrils coiling,
Wafting, washing fresh, scents dead a mellenia
Tumbling over & over, on
Tiny spears,
Piercing skin, seared by sensation
You are born to Day, seductive as the warmest blood
Yet, like grasping sand, your seconds fall away,
Til once more, embraced by the darkness,
You return banished to the fold,
Burned & burning to the Forever Knight
Belinda Holdsworth January '95