Nº 2 of 12


This Is Her

This is her with her ash dress on
This is her in her wooden shoes
This is her with her damp moss hair
This is her wearing a sash of scratches

Today her coffee is bitter as crystals
Today her smile is a single brush stroke
Today her eyes are milky mirrors
Today her music is pitiful and distant

Tomorrow she will pull petals from her roses
Line her pockets with leaves
Tomorrow she will watch
Summer peel from the calendar

And let drunk suns settle
Like fruit in plum pickle jars

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