bruises are mine

her eyes were emerald cities in tourmaline

mist spit down from the burning moon

though soot and whisper woke my wolf-child

from her yellow maidens melody

she pooled in fevered mulch and wooden pearls

that he planted with misery and pined out

by laughing at the demon-fruit;

by dining in the diamond’s vein

 

restlessly into that muddy river’s spine

frothed sticky, milk-white limbs

butter-knifed into the nectar of a princess cut

moonstone, stinging quietly as ruby winds

on brand new wings

 

and way over the feather-laden fields, far out

where she tangles, soaking in the grave he wept her

the mineral tongue of earth has lapped her

swallowed gems and all

 


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

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17 thoughts on “bruises are mine

  1. this is gorgeous. being an obsessive devotee of geology and lapidary I especially partial to your linguistic aesthetics implemented here. i have an exquisite prismatic lens burn in my mind’s eye.

  2. Sam, I cannot say more than what has already been said. You are one of my favorite poets. This poem left an indelible image in my mind, “her eyes were emerald cities in tourmaline,mist spit down from the burning moon,
    though soot and whisper woke my wolf-child, from her yellow maidens melody”. My favorite line, exquisite language and imagery.

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