The shadow sprawling across the salon floor
A credible replica of the wooden chair.
With every shift of light the shadow shifted too
Becoming unrecognisable - amorphous.
The chair its self remained unchanged - enduring.
Its carved back and fretwork equal in beauty.
An original easily forged and yet,
There is always something lost in translation.
A comforting smell of beeswax surrounded it
Filling the room, rich in substance and nourishment.
The inanimate could almost be animate,
Beguiling those near to stroke its alluring curves.
Over many years the grain had become smoother,
Every caress leaving an indelible mark.
Countless fingers had reached for the tawny wood,
Umpteen sighs of pleasure had wafted over it.
A chair caressed by a different breeze now,
The warmth of human breath instead of natures wind.
And a touch of soft flesh not a cool spring rain.
Its metamorphosis no less lovely despite death.
...
Christina Andrea © 2005
Hello folks, Hope you're all well! I'm not really back I'm just sneaking this in at work. My PC is still not working but I'll try to pop in again... Just thought I'd let you all know I'm still alive! C xxxx
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