Quiver

Literature -

Empty Words

 My Pretty
 
 She, like the night.
 Brilliant iridescence in her eyes.
 Life-like, pale water bird...
 Strong and kind.
 Black cornsilk strands,
 and my eyes watch--
 lifting in the Southern breeze;
 descending in my dreams.
 She's the light fantastic show.
 Got the grab-you-by-the-soul mouth,
 and oh, the way she uses it...
 Would she mind a bite or two?
 raw decadence with fire-passion
 clipping bits of reality by the wings
 and still flying away with "things".
 I've got her wicked grin inside,
 and what a lovely place to keep her;
 dark red and dripping...
 This I confide:
 She is not too much for me.
 And I like drowning sometimes,
 in her inky obsidian sea...--r.g.