Their fingers press

Curving feathered wings
Angelic. She, with skin
Just as fair, as the angels sing.

In sparkling coats
Of glittering steel. He said,
No true beauty before he’d seen.

Between them
Glass and ripples of silenced water.
Pearly fish flash, silver
Yellow and blue.
Pools and coral set between.

Against glass, their fingers press.

Time leads on and expressions fade,
But not for these
Two star-crossed lovers.

Later by her step; their wind
Kissed hair, floated
On the loving breeze.
As she, dressed with wings;
Watched him creak and vanish,
As mother called.
With a sparkle.
Gone.

From where he dropped,
Her balcony she waits.
Crying;

‘Oh Romeo, Oh Romeo, where for art thou Romeo.’

Tim Peacock
©2006
12/6/2006