Author Information
Old Projector
Beneath the pinkened dome of me,
there sat an old projector.
For many days it was unused,
and those days soon became weeks.
From time to time its reels would spin,
only to run dry of film;
leaving it a relic that
had little in the way of purpose.
Then there came a recent night
where flickers came and whisked away
my conscious and unconscious mind,
revealing images of you.
The cradled box had gotten hold
of strands of hair from 'top your head
and fed them through each cylinder.
I reveled in your fairish glow.
