There’s
such beauty, as vicious as poison, ever to draw closer.
It
touches bone, a deadly woman, as hurt as a wound. She
dances
in burgundy, deeply hidden, cringing a full moon.
We’re
taken, a false perception, enlove with an image. How
to
get close, to un-layer rain, tipsy off vodka? She’s
nonchalant,
to hide a scar, enlove with a future. Who could
keep
her: a gentle soul, fraught with all night conversation.
Love
is a miracle, touched with religion, as purple as
royalty.
She’s ever blue, to find solace, afraid of false terms.
So
let her be free, a woman’s gestures, as aloof as freedom.
So
pop a chardonnay, afield a heart, drawing close to
danger;
for summer’s crying, mourning a loss, cloven in
spirit;
where all is rain, a terrible noonday, locked in a coop;
and
there she stands, a beautiful tornado, making mockery
of
therapy. We cater, to lose ground, fraught with drear.
So
we drift, lost for love, where she appears as cruel. How
to
hold, to mirror souls, reciting poetry. It’s a riddle, to
steal
a soul, where love was last week.
