Silk fringes reach the ground
tatty scarlet threads
of splendour past
still shimmer
in the light
Blood red poppies
on a field of night
draped on shoulders
not so young
yet younger than the shawl
the slippery silken swathe
escapes her grasp
sighs in it’s journey
to the waiting floor
and gathers at her feet
Firelight paints her body
with crimson blossoms
shadows night dark
caress the curves
he loved to touch
Listening to a memory
she dances slowly
moving to her heart’s beat
remembering still the sound
of his guitar.