Flavors of Her Essence
A woman's soul, is it as porous
as the air that breaks the water and earth
apart from each other?
In the slither of liquid contours,
this maiden's essence blows into tiny
glints of filling days’ silent pages
without having to fill in the blanks.
But such fire in her navel;
swelling, leaping forth unto a black dahlia
of night dripping with all the kerosene stars
like a tigress on a hidden, sensuous prowl...
This is her shape.
Then coming from metal gut, she fumes
of musky-flavored energy, steaming
the brain for a war of poker in a den
filled with invincible men as she raises
the bets for a royal flush of aces...
This is her bullish time.
Yet, curling into late evening
she enters into the pillows
of her soul rinsed from the bouquet
and incense of a dulcet day,
her bosom of long breaths warming the lamp
gentle, temperate, and mild in peace,
coasting along the ledge of her swan sleep...
This is her soul's time, shape and peace.
For Laura Loo's Second Place Challenge
Resubmitted 6/27/2016
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Place 2nd in the Contest:The Scent Of Your Soul
Judged 10/18/2014
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2014
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