you are graphite dust

You are graphite dust,
blown.

You are gold without knowing it,
Smoke from a slow fire,
wet.

You are leaves in a pile at dusk,
You are webbed like a spider’s nest underground, you are seen,
sheen,
opalescent.

You can smolder
like coal fires underground,
But leave only soft chalk on my arms as you hold them under you.

You are earthly,
and sharp,
and bright,
like hot cut black stones.

(I tried to show you myself in places,
tried to exchange a running picture-show for words,
tried to surround you with a moving screen of myself,
projected).

I should quiet down,
still myself
watch as bruises on white skin appearing,
charcoal on scrim,
silhouette on sugar backdrop.

You are a cameo, love,
black shape cut poised on pearl,
black smoke curling around me in the night.