I see her in shadow
and firelight
in shadow and clublight
in shadow and smoke
She’s a dream
My Jean Grey
Phoenix when she’s passion
and she’s always passion.

She’s Rhiannon and I’d be her Gypsy
as we listen to Stevie and laugh or cry
through chaos.

She says she’d be the ground
for my lightning
but she’s the one who electrified my life
shocked me, jolted me
out of my head and into my emotions.

She’s the chaos and discord
and smooth roughness
of improvised jazz

I longed for her wildness
barely tamed, in my boring routine flatness

what I saw in her, she reflected back
in her view of me.

Not twins, but twinned
sister soul mates
electric jazz at poetry night.

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