Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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At dusk, she descends
the stairs, candles light
the flickering flow, lace
and taffeta grace, as drips
of spent wax, silently
cool in sweet musk. Why
she has come, nobody asks
the question stalls
hanging in the air.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    June 17, 2011
    Over Costa Rica