match

a darkened tunnel gives illumination
to lines in the sand,
fingers that draw with the striking of day;
a palette made of pointing at falling stars.

images that light me like sunfire, dragged across stone;
finding every crack
with the raw skin of my back--
an uncomfortable sensation
between my shoulder-blades,
of being watched for things accomplished
in past lives.


these shining sins draw a fetching border
for the lies I weave today
with cast away stone and towers
of blessed loneliness,
a place for the sky to describe these destinies.

one last flick of a broken wrist
cupping glory to my breast;
shaded lines of veins
trace my softly fading eyes--
no longer befitting of a soul.


--
Title and this picture are prompt.