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I have seen her by the glow
of ballerina’s on their toes
atop wicks of paraffin
as dancing shadows on her skin
of ochre highlights painting
contours of burnt umber
And I have felt the tremors deep
within her valley to her peaks
metamorph eloquent parlance
into verse she would beg pardoned
for fear it stirs her Grans
eternal slumber
Yes she overloads my senses
like poor flesh against expensive
satin sheets and pillow shams
of woven silk in brillo-ed hands
Thank the gods she loves a man
with ragged edges…
-HymnAgen
