Dark Love

She is holding the moon in her hands
Moon and woman rapt in the figure of eight
Infinity that has shattered the sky
Her darkened skirt caught
in the throes of flamenco
Dark Love, she calls it
An embrace that cannot bear
The light of day

White Love

A friend once gave me two beautiful pieces of cut glass art. Companion pieces.
Here is a poem triggered by the first piece.

White Love

She always called it White Love-

A woman raising her arms to the sun

rising out of a purple ocean

Though rimmed with a red aureole

she thought of it for you

at a place where sky meets earth

and circle meets straight

and yin and yang merge

And though she too wears red, her purple head

shows purpose not altogether worldly

and worthy somewhat of you