A Figure On The Path

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Suspended mid-ascent
Photic threads about her sylphlike form
Gossamer, such faint restraints
Casting glows on weathered paint
From interwoven skin and ink

Lips brushed almost red
More like blood and wine entangled
Lushly driven floral spangles
Stolen ministry of angles
Spoken softly like a stranger

Under charcoal cloak
Her corona piercing flesh to soul
Driven nimbly through my being
Studded figment I am seeing
Shapely alabaster dreaming

Pale by moonlit paint
Transcendental vapor drawn in shape
Floating weightless in this forest
Through a chime of ancient chorus
Called and drawn from air before us