lunabelle

Im open. a flower that blooms in the night. Evening Primrose, Sweet-scented Nicotiana, Angel's Trumpet. The air around me shimmers like like an illusory curtain, it might fall away at any moment revealing furtive truths in hushed tones. The ground beneath is wet. My roots absorb the tears, the blood, the sweat of a thousand and one nights.

When the bellows close.
the last string is plucked.
final breathe exhaled.
rhythm stops.
the song is over.