stained-glass shadows

The curtains hide us from the world beyond your bed. Or maybe it’s just the windows themselves, acting as an opaque barrier. But I like the image of the curtains, framing us like actors on a stage, two nameless silhouettes circling closer and closer to each other, a conclusion clearly foretold by convention alone.

But us, with the imagined-to-be-opaque windows, and the curtains pulled shut around your four-poster bed, we only move when others watch. But when those strings that would pull us to move are arrested, when we move of our own will, we still find ourselves intertwined.

Our stained-glass shadows seep down the walls. Intertwined, incandescent, colors dripping together into a marbled display.

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