Daffodil

These silken skirts brush gently across the earth, bare ground pregnant with moisture, moisture gravid with the breathless sounds of spring . . .

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Gypsy Moon

The gypsy woman dance. Her skirts cup the edges of the moon. She tells her broken story from between crimson lips while silk daubs the sky behind her and indigo letters infiltrate the heartache of her tears . . .

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World View

Silver bell chime at midnight. Vibration ripples through my brittle bones as soft beeswax candle casts halo on silk . . .

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Wine Garden

Orchard wraps its silk around me in dying, dusky air. I live and die in dreams slashed with ink . . .

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