It's Still Life

Ritual

She tilts like a star leaning against her hip,
slips into that dark galaxy void, where
her eyes are gentle on her restless soul.

And waves surge marble-hard,
a chance to break against her thighs like
flexing muscle fans.

Her pulse quickens as she chants
rituals in her own flickering light.

I am 90% water, she says in between breaths
and she spills like a wave hissing on hot sand.

145 words: reading time >1 minute. Written for the Sunday whirl Wordle #654. A dozen words to be included in a poem. This week’s words are: waves slip void soul restless dark chanting flickering pulse chance marble fan.

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