Power Outage
by Vicki Mandell-King



What shall we do, my dear old love,
with nothing to distract us from each other?

Suddenly shy, no, frightened – not by the dark,
but by an intimacy we’re unaccustomed to.

I imagine we watch the fire spark and flame,
candles flicker in the draft,

sip from a bottle of leftover wine.
And as the otherwise dark enfolds us –

we enfold each other,
our murmurings lapse into silence.

We tire, not from ennui,
but this intensity.

How strange how strange the so-familiar
has become.







Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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