Last night
indigo overspill
pooled at my feet
and the incantations
of hushed expire from phantoms
almost inaudible
standing in wait
they penetrate
my being, my existence
devoid of gentle appeal
from foxglove perfume
but with escalating forebode
arousing my senses
that had been smudged by time
the crescendo of delirium
shaking indifference from my skin
the blue mead
fanned my body
until fully absorbed

I was lucid

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji