There is sweat and magic in her creases a fragrant treasure a fervent secret there is a flashing world of neurocracy there is red and there is black there is in fact a luminous universe I smile quietly at this silken craven thought.
She of female colour works a cherry path tripping rainbow wind and flaunting a song, the nightingale rapture… A bountiful traveller, her bowl swimming, a vagrant obstreperous kite. This leonine hue, this invigorated sunrise, she is yolk. Woman spills from her delicate fingers, impolite yet forgiven as it falls. She of 1000 clouds and velvet womb, aContinue reading “Nightingale Rapture”