The numbing nectar, the mead; the need
To knead away the knots
And silence the screams
Virginal white
Or blood heavy and red
Crystal held, cool as a lover’s hand
Furtive by day
In a Tupperware cup
Stained with shame
Sweetly slips away the sorrow
And brings instead
The same tomorrow
Her mother, her brother
Her sister
Herself
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4 comments:
OK, I am becoming jealous now. Don't go around thinking you're a poet just because you got lucky twice. ;)
Wow! Doggy, I think she's a poet. Of course, I'm not a poet, so what do I know? ;)
Thank you so much!!
It isn't luck, it is true talent. You ARE a poet. I love your words.
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