By the Id

She simpered silver and deceptive
Swift, saccadic movements soften
Saturated struggles between juxtaposed eyelids
Slowly shimmering like something similar to saffron and salted sands
So, when first I saw you, I thought you were golden
Somehow, your arms spoke like sonnet and songs
Subtly silencing intuition with satin-like taction
Slicing, sanguine souls sanctimoniously
Scored, punctured heart scraps abandoned
And still you’re starving.

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Copyright 2014 the Id
Published on Saturday, July 26, 2014.     Filed under: "Poetry"

Author's Note:

the ominous She.
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