~ Narcissus Woolf ~
Rhapsodic rapture up the garden path,
scratching pine needles peeling pinky skin, plump and passionate
from high cheek bones, wavy golden locks, and still lochs
in the distance, frozen clammy mirror, rippling resonance of the
echoing tree-line, with a fat red moon sliding in the shadowed canopy
warped in the murky depths of pond life, I see myself.
reeds twinkling with dewy wet baubles, trickling onto my knees caked in mud
like a classical painting, watercolour, I see my eyes, my nose,
and my mouth, curved strawberry in a creamy visage, how wonderful,
look at my words,
look at the letters littered on my little flushed tongue,
tiptoeing, trembling in the cold of the dusk. My nose dips in,
I feel lapping of liquid glass, and I shiver
I describe the smell of air and some leaks in my nasal cave,
as if high tide high time now, I fixate and I gather weight,
tipping flowerbed stones into my overcoat pocket, I've always been waif.
I plunge my mouth in, I gargle libretti,
bones whacking the sides of my deadened flesh,
my lungs agape, ready…
I let it in,
the water words whorls inwards; I consume the language of the mirror,
the ersatz eradication of my mind, I fall into utterances of vanity, and into a void of verses.
12-Oct-2012 15:46:52
- Last edited on
12-Oct-2012 15:47:20
by
Cyun
@Fannygirdle on Twitter | Co-Owner of The Scrying Pool, a future updates and lore clan
