The Artist
<>The ordinary water that she sips
transforms into a sparkling crimson juice
of cherries, cold and sweet, upon her lips.
The blues she sees are sapphire, greens, chartreuse,
and hardly does she know the color white,
for pearl or alabaster it appears.
The fog is lilac mist, and she’s a kite
that climbs the sky while loosing mundane fears.
Consumed by wind, she does not flag. Instead,
embracing zephyr, soars. Responses of
this mortal are not common. Served dry bread,
she’d name it manna sent her from above!
Half Pegasus, on wings of beauty borne,
her other half alights, a unicorn!
For the Screwed V Contest of Rob Carmack
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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