Shadow-puppet

Your skin is a dragon's,
A palette in twilight,
Lines without end,
Dazzling and bright.

I smell the smoke
That covers our eyes,
I taste the clay
Of my smile as it dries.

I cast three shadows:
Blue from the moon,
Yellow from lamps,
And black from you.

I walk the street,
And all behind me,
The lamps go out
And we go free.

--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com