Paler Scorch, of Memory

As if to peel the misty paleness
was to know the brutal scour,
and the curl of a thought dare whisper

Softer tread, the wood could splinter
at her blistered ache of tell
The painting fled into her stride

So the ruby told her lips to hear
the gentle memory of a childhood,
of a curtained moonless sky

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: