Hills of onyx and diamond
Washed in splattered flashes-
A bare line unbearably bold.
I embrace you sweating.
I speak us close and firm
Since you're good for me,
Regimented, like medicine.
And, silly, I'm good for you too.
This morning Nature woke up on the ground.
She watched as we were dragged without a sound,
Across her body's oily red disgrace.
We streaked her hallway floor. Rain washed her face
That reeked of char and putrescence. The light
Confirmed the end at last of drawn out nights,
With demon imps that suckling, scarred her breasts.
She doffed her burning dress, then limped as best
She could over to shut her bedroom door.
It locked. She sighed, "Y a mort. Alors...confort."
Silence grows like the wild flowers-
No one waters or prunes daily-
How they thrive all the same,
Heedless.
Rainy days and at least
Hours' sun sufficiently breeds
Many such, that spread
In our farm seedless-
Useless,
Even
To grind as flour.
Prickly stems should be pulled early-
Palms exposed to the cold
Bleed less.