in packard skin

 

in packard skin reflected
mirrored in the sheen,
alone with only the desert
desolation filled her eyes,
taking gold braid lasso
began to be fluid
with rope,
legs damp under nylon cover
breasts swelled in warm lace,
remembering that match box town
that ignited under her touch,
dust rose,
she had claimed the sun
heat closed about skin,
a game without kisses
and dead flower grief,
heaven would know
of her crimes
the dead that where still afraid,
in a packard skin reflected
spice tainted tongue
needed moisture,
as lasso swirled in frenzy,
acrid fragrance of death
chose to pursue
waiting and smiling,
mushroom column
elevated behind her
it to
reflected in a packard skin

the wicked binds tightly

a house wreathed with cobwebs

and love letters turned to mud

behind unwashed curtains

and one last ticking clock,

creaking thunder and a rising breeze,

chance sat on the shoulders of the couple

who hand in hand

washed in rain,

where rings of secret words whispered,

blinked as if stardust clung to eyelids

afternoon fragrance of apples

from nearby orchard

ripe waiting to be picked

and placed in basket,

within those walls he saw them

bite flesh letting juice

run over lips as they embrace,

but they would share with a nest

of memories and swept away brutality,

no stars would shine inside,

and it would be clever to reside

with those ghosts without  rest

poem, poet, gothic

Wordle 129

 

sunday whirl

 

the zoo inside

loves dozen roses of nonsense

absorb the tears

bowing scarlet faces

like captives not yet freed,

unable to see the stony sky

witness to this fall

grey wet clouds furrow

sun struggles to shine,

she knelt thinking of his heart

as a homeless man

moving into oceans waves

shouting at the albatross

with salt tainted voice,

he was baptized

and she became afraid

of the creatures inside him

lurking with their brutal flesh

beyond fables tale,

waves over him

spray and foam he fell

swept out

her tears continued to fall

standing

walked into the garden

with a ghost of no return

his path named as a storm

that rent open her gates

she could not hold anymore

restless memories

and vertical shining eyes

it would be a fresh start

poetry , poem