Tendrils of food laced with perfume,
Windows of noise
Echoes in closed eyes.
Lemons nestled in silver-bowl,
Full-bodied decadence
Embrace.
Slick-sticky pleasure
Blood-violet pool in mirrored transparency
Soft tumble of memory
Senses blurred, unspoken
Slurring.
Candlelight falling through mind,
Tall words amid pleasing heartbeat,
Veins pulsing under thick membrane
Through cigarette smoke
Stirring.
© 2010. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
the stop bath, the fixer. All await,
to coax an image
from particles of silver
bromide in the darkness.
All I hear is the sound of the
Paper immersed in solution.
I lift it out with care, peg it
on a line.
My image, my process, the
temperature, the time,
Just so.
Later I curl up to you in the darkness,
Knowing nothing outside of
this moment.
This touch, this sigh, all gone in the
blink of an eye. I want to peg this moment
On the line, fixing it in time.
© 2010. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
The fresh smell of morning dew
Reminds me of a time ago,
when the trees outside
(in their shades of viridian
and pale green),
were teeming
with chattering finches.
And autumnal fingers
gently enveloped the fields in
a white mist.
Now there is silence outside my window
And a grey terraced smudge replaces the trees.
A winter’s chill I cannot shake.
© 2010. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
Spiral Paper Moon 