Her cheek is the first peony
To bloom as light does come
Into our room through shrouded glass
Pink as chrysanthemum.
The rosy rising swirling light
Surrounds her golden hair
And turns her locks to branches pink
Of cherry blossoms fair.
Her back seems carved from smoothest stone
Drenched in the faintest blush
Her slumbering spine like Cypress vine
Lies dreaming in the brush.
In repose her legs do rest
Bent gently at the knee
Like Bleeding Hearts upon their strand
Knelt down in reverie.
Her arms are wrapped around her
In warm and damask light
Just like the summer morning-glory
Waiting out the night.
At last she stirs within the sheets
The cotton dahlia blooms
And reveals amidst the rose
Eyes- delphinium blue!
About the Creator
Annie Chester
"In the name of the Bee-
and of the Butterfly-
and of the Breeze- Amen!"
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The Piggy Project
I’ve had so many names in this life I lose track of which ones were ever really mine and which ones I wore because someone needed me to. Some were handed to me before I had words to refuse them, before I knew what they meant, before I knew I could say no. Most weren’t meant to hurt. That doesn’t mean they didn’t leave marks. Marks that told me who I belong to, who I am by way of who claims me, recognizes me in the good and bad, who walks beside me.
By Fatal Serendipity2 days ago in Confessions
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