Coils Of Spent Gold
M
Mark Heathcote
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Your hair was a scarlet bowl.
A living fire.
A fruit bowl that ripened in tomorrow's sun
It spun flames that ripped through a man's ribs.
And nestled in coils of spent gold. It hissed out of desire.
But then, cooled into a forbidden moonlight,
hidden behind veils of distant, unknown starlight.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş