Seated Woman With a Parasol
Sitting on the love seat,
Today I feel a moth
Bodily peeled from its chrysalis
To meet the world’s dim eyes
And worrisome gales.
God left precisely X years ago.
I had no use for one afterwards,
Until I met your breath along
The sinful clamor inside my veins.
And I am caught between duty-
Should I build you into a shrine
Of eternal unfaith-
And the wildling taste at the roof
Of my mouth- do I crush your
Grandness of the wrist,
Under the ball of my foot,
The one you kiss before you
Reach the troubled line of my leg.
My butterfly confliction
Succumbs to your godless ways.
Copyright © Witty Fay | Year Posted 2015
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