Violet A confluence of stars on the napkin she dropped. I tasted her voice from the opposite end of a long corridor. Flowers lifted their infant heads in the kitchen. It rained on her garter. It rained on her thigh. Opal music awoke the hungry ballroom. I touched the sound of stewing pears, unseen behind a tongue. A confluence of scents spelt her letters in colour - Violet. The bride drank a blue laugh. On the lawn, red lanterns sang. The light smelt of honeycomb, firs. And wed evening washed his chin in the cup of my hand. ©Benjamin Stainton