Biography: Phil Wood works in a statistics office. He enjoys working with numbers and words. His poems can be found in various publications including: Sein und Werden, Autumn Sky Poetry, and most recently in Noon https://issuu.com/noonpress/
She didn't see the wasp
caress cold skin
along the leafy hem
of her nightdress.
She didn't hear its flight
nest a flutter
of shadows hovering
above her breast.
She didn't feel the flame
bite those wings,
the sting cradled within
The maid is taking care to pour
warm milk, a measure just enough
to cover crusts. This marvels her
how stale becomes wholesome again
between the lips of mistress and master.
The curtain folded back to view
young Catharina reading letters
of debt. The Cupid on the wall,
above her head - he's painted out.
It frowns her brow his yes and no.
This mistress dwells within the frame
of pearls. She warms with the brush of light
parting those lips, vermilion
giving a life to flesh. A maid's
bold eyes the essence of her own.
A tear of wax
slowly meanders pale skin.
Tonight he plays by candlelight.