Mist

white clover tresses

drenched 

in cherry blossom rain,

whisper the names

of each slivered shard 

of self

mourned and lost,

as hem brushes way.

.

the winged ones,

harvest trinkets

from constellations,

birthing a desire 

to bind unclothed emptiness

to substance of earth.

.

we lay poised 

on the branchtips

breasts bared to sky,

a reflection of lives

emblazened with light.

.
© M.G. Iannucci 2017


Art: Traces by Nik Helbig

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