She is stardust leaving sweet bones in her wake.
A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions with kisses.
There is a hunger in her freckled constellations,
like spider webs woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks back-boned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page left to rest in your mouth.
No comments:
Post a Comment