Smoke-eyed, cherry-haired damsel,
She frames the golden vibrancy of sunlight
Dressed in pastel and velvet dusk,
Wearing pavements' fragrance.
Freezing seconds with frames of gray
And lonely flower petals arranged
In fractals coated with jasper tints,
Playing melodies kissed by her lips,
And an Irish flute wrapped in her
Delicate fingertips—
She breathes color and paints with air,
Her laughter is a fragile crystal chime
Caressed by the wind.
She transforms the alleys and streets of despair,
Detailed in a million frames, into brilliance.
As she wanders, she carries her treasures still:
When she walks, she walks with her dreams.
— A. P.
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Accidents: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryIt's like learning a new tongue; like befriending an unfamiliar book, and finding love expressed in a million different languages that I cannot understand nor explain. - you have kept me awake for far too long Antoinette Prescott, 2016 "Accidents" i...
