Amazing poetry shared.


Desert, her eyes are morsels

to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists,

between the flowers in each white finger,

whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter,

deserved for posturing an abyss

this dance, like an atramentous sea;


to the ebb and flow

of flower bedded lips to firstborn tree,

knucklebones, wrists,

red-dusted each tress,

a harvest of glass adorned on her face,


like milium sands; sanguinolent

leaves fall, fingers hold them tightly

in silent beats of her heart,

she soon sings, through each palliative thorn

each stem that twists and lives,

swelling in möbius dreams

to asylum under the dotted moon,

ice creases like a porcelain doll,

she begets it; broken bones of the shore

never surrenders, the woman aglow;

deathly violets she kisses them once,

and they bloom.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved.

Written for the dVerse…

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