Frescoes of Forbidden Love

She spun the spindle in the frescoed night,

marigold petals scattered like prayers

beneath the weight of a talisman heavy with silence,

a love forbidden, fierce and fragile,

defiant against the gods who watched with cold eyes,

their breath a storm behind the veil,

while the mortal heart beat in rhythm with ancient whispers,

shaking the earth beneath their feet,

cracking the sky with every stolen touch.

I watched her, loyal, silent,

bearing witness to a fire that could burn or heal,

a love that was both cage and key,

tethered between two worlds, where words were sharp as blades,

and promises fragile as marigold petals caught in a gale,

whispers that dared to defy fate

and the cruel geometry of divine laws,

where the mortal and the deity danced

on the edge of ruin and redemption,

fragile, fierce, gentle; a love no one else could see

but that twisted the air,

like the spindle’s thread, pulling tight the fragile fabric of their worlds

until only a breath remained between salvation and oblivion.