She dwells the night without sleeping,
the day without living
A rogue acolyte without a set doctrine
Misled, her creed nulls pintsize
while she keeps sun-sitting the clangour wearing humid hot her gin burnished skin
Shaped in sin
And her cherry-picked golden hewed herloom
There's no space to niche in the meridians of remorse
No grief transcends her pinnacle;
Brows thick and steady soles
In that clandestine pilgrimage penumbra rolls its underparts
Wiggly white pads of five glinting crowns
Littering the dark palms of the maker clambering on his telltale book of pledges
She continues the voyage
Man of her homestead
Cuffed in what is taught to be holy;
A girl is a saint only if martyred
Fed the little blest death in devotion to the misdeeds of her kin
Left to fidget in the puddles of her transuding marrow
Die in her own essence of wine tincture
Ahead where lightning meadows strike
Knitting the ambit of the condensed grey
Yellow bursts of bolts yarning the wounds of her line all ties unfastened
Between her nails cantaloupe dew bites homecoming ensigns,
Phtalo bareens reck havoc on whom sanctified her slaughter
Drank her life and lowered a lily in her hearth _
Who called that prematured fate is
gulped to the mouth of her portal
Chimney of her womb tying them to the ashes of herself
Lone spreading her scent in the borrows of what haunted men and tempted their fathers
Her growling echoes no pain but a vengeful siren snare
Enticed in God's calling
A treasure to be found in the grater of the forgotten dead offering in waiting
So they step the pockets heavy with greed
The girl smiles and leaps
14/6/2023