she held her lace
as if it were a harp
and played crocheted
the holes
the notes
that plucked the dark
her lace, in knots and loops
a threaded tune spun fine,
desire's minuet, the kind
that plays your fingers
in every key of blind
Written with Brendan Bonsack
Copyright Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack
25 October, 2014
Photo Art by Victoria Pettella