Sunday, January 3, 2016

Widow

Her smile as delicate as a widow's stich.
Her heart dark and cold as pitch.

Her feet soft as a silk - maiden tone.
Her eyes hard as aging stone.

My desire for her a shameless lust.
My soul touched by her now in rust.

I sing to her of lasses fair.
She holds me in her frozen stare.

I reach for her a tender maid.
She holds my life it's bitter trade.

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