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The Unravelling

You would fall asleep
one hand curled into the
twist of my braid, the
sweep of lash revealing
bluish veined lids as
angels breath sighed,
vents from heaven.

Those eyes that would stare
still holding the mystery
of aquatic sails at night
and lips, pouting, pursed
in remembered storms,
winds not yet quieted.

When you fell, the time
it took to quell a dark
and squally cloud
whose cries ricochet
as I bathed my lips
in your first blood

You took your thumb
as in sleep it slid
the trajectory of
time and wonder,
knots as tightly
woven as my braid
that in future would
slowly be unravelled.

Poetry by Elle