Enigma
“I'm a conundrum. Or an enigma. I forget which.”
James A. Owen
I am a midsummer storm, veiled in cerulean smiles,
swirling above sangria seas~
enveloped in gracious glimmers of the unicorn sun,
where the black dahlias dance, and onyx-winged
butterflies never die but flutter lemonade lies.
Yet whiffs of clary-sage breeze
unravel crystalline clairvoyance,
calming the chaos tangled in corals of confusion~
searching for something real,
like sparkling sapphires,
floating in charismatic cadence.
Tonight, I’ll walk through
the untouched wilderness~
seeking Ayurvedic clovers coated
in perennial peace.
There, purple petals of iris thrive from amorous herbs,
in the fragrant heritage of blooming purity,
whilst acrylics on my cranberry canvas
shift in slow waves,
reminding blazing stars to
flicker penciled streaks of clemency,
mirroring my love-glazed
heart that gently beats~
in sync to the virtuous violin whispers.
Perhaps, I am the birth of a tragedy unspoken,
when love soars, intoxicated from the
scented sins,
of a poisonous pleasure
drenched in whiskey and roses,
drowning in foxglove fantasies from loneliness..
I ponder, if I were like the darkness,
cuddled by the stars, will I be found?
Or would I forever be an enigmatic embodiment
too deep for the shallow shadows
that dare not feel beyond what is to be seen?
So if tomorrow, there is no poetry,
I hope you’ll remember
beyond my skin and name..
I could be your frozen flower, or the warm willows;
snapdragon and sweet-pea.
There is no synonymous noun to depict
the aura of a citrine arc,
lost within faded lines of phased seasons.
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Ink Empress
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