Glasswinged Sorceress

When nylon nights trade crystal colours in the stalls of nimble butterfly wings, I blossom as an irenic origami fervently fabricated with snowflakes of greedy gloom, stealing royal violets from the smokey estuaries flowing beneath the heavens befogged with indigos, glistening in periwinkle-arcs of abstract auroras. I reminisce those amaranth stars that whisper graphical pantoums in pearlescent pixels of plum pentagon- shaped skies, as everytime when porcelain acrylics get spilt upon mauve pages ribboned with hydrangeas, my orchid lips spin a twist of leathered spells amidst frozen fahrenheit of frostbit textures. Painting heliotropic oxygen with brushstrokes of peony petals, I carry unspoken words of iris, so that artificial aroma within sculptured truths remains caged behind these dark magenta carnations printed upon cashmere curtains of hallucinating hyacinths. Do photogenic pansies never get frozen in iced pyre of parched patchworks? For, I believe that, drowsy poppies too have streaks of wine stories to narrate in their ages of ache. Perhaps, I'm a glasswinged sorceress of arctic hailstorms, tracing phlox- fluorescent forests with tropical crayons, as oiled hues of multi-dusks flutter across lavender orbs, sprinkling mauve dewdrops upon watercolor dusts of pencil-shaded luna who unlocks silver secrets with skeleton key, washing my bones with lilac fog. So, when these thistle shaded leaves crack their crystal cocoons and the sun sheds its fluffed feathers of hibernation, meet me along the horizons where bright Veronica takes the shape of the moon and reincarnates as a crocheted sangria memory along the translucent sleet of snowy sights. My skin is softer than raisin pearls of mulberry seas, as my spirit is stained with glamorous grape dyes and amethyst-fresco distemper across bitter skies has discoloured every apathetic shade that doesn't seem to define my airbrushed heather heart.