She finds love in the broken mirror she can piece together and see herself in
The red and brown combine, turning burnt sienna in the sunlight
She values the fragments of her body and what each segment can do on its own
The colors reflect from the turquoise pools of water and pearls
Stranded five centimeters apart on lace wrapped around her neck
She finds it is easier to see shades that are the same as her, it is easier to belong
The smoky brown shade of her skin blows cooling breaths to the sun
She yearns to spread Indian clay across a tree that harbors her silhouette
As she gyrates to-and-fro on the brink of a new year’s edge
The shimmer she emits from her bodice is loud yet she uses it faint
She only dances to dig holes in the ground, and bury herself
She is by herself as her skirt whispers soft secrets of careless innocence
Wrapping around her frame and releasing to repeat, causality
Feeling the threading of Earth and purity molding to her image not yet captured
She’ll strip of worldly possessions and thrust out her unsoiled canvas
In a spectrum that will not deviate from greater or least but will find unity in the same
She’ll lie naked in the meadows where rain and dirt and darkness are absorbed in her skin
The moon is rocking her slowly with sweet aphrodisiac melodies
She’ll sleep in the sanctuary of magnolias that for her are forever in bloom
Knowing that harmony can only be played by a unified soul
She’ll roll softly back and forth, rubbing the oils of the fingers of nature on her palette
She sings robust flavors of alliums’ that trickle from her tongue
She smells of fresh boysenberry seeds and loam, just bordering the edge of spring
Her touch is docile, her presence aromatic, her love unhinged.
YOU ARE READING
Pages of Yesterday
PoetryJust a collected works of poetry, in no specific order, about anything and everything. Many will allude to Whitman since I am currently studying him in my creative writing class.
