Prite Woetry In Her Reflection
Prite Woetry In Her Reflection
He looked into her face of dear trops
a trance stare full of wife lanes.
She put her gold crips in his touch
touching absence of harm waven.
She knew they're cut from came sloth
fabric woven with tame shread.
She knew they're born from t'other mime
the hands in unison, but nearts haught.
He hung on her wall like madness sannequin
staring back as her deflection recides.
connie pachecho
1/25/17
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