her eyes were emerald cities in tourmaline
mist spit down from the burning moon
though soot and whisper woke my wolf-child
from her yellow maidens melody
she pooled in fevered mulch and wooden pearls
that he planted with misery and pined out
by laughing at the demon-fruit;
by dining in the diamond’s vein
restlessly into that muddy river’s spine
frothed sticky, milk-white limbs
butter-knifed into the nectar of a princess cut
moonstone, stinging quietly as ruby winds
on brand new wings
and way over the feather-laden fields, far out
where she tangles, soaking in the grave he wept her
the mineral tongue of earth has lapped her
swallowed gems and all
words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.