A dead box, a murderer of many; I kneel to you; I have written poems, love, lust, excuses for the better of what I mourned the same I was tired of the scars, winters whored in childhood, the Limoges lips the cherubs planted by the moon the bed, always death in a waltz; the trash in the garden, my hands fertilize no children there I am both the woman and the girl; she sits in the bathtub death to the cricket she does not sleep; I kneel all the same God, pretty statues gardens that stepmother each flower; academy of fine ideas; water fear death the patchouli my body rests upon where my flesh and bone meet I find myself above all in poetry © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse 5/20/2021 MTB prompt.
I hope the beat and rhythm pace some sort of waltz.
I’m not really sure where I was going here for sure. Just some things that give my mind a dance, especially in poetry, things lost to the past, and thoughts like always looking for more tired of the same.