The heart is a soft place
Valleys full of memories
Pressed deeply into the plush pillow-top shade
Of daisies plucked yellow
To rivers of capillaries pumping diamond-flesh
Tissue like belladonna, breathing mined opal
Handspun to fleeting ghosts
Painting the mirage of ticking towers, passing time
But the cool hand-drawn skin
Is dipping into the shadows, mirrored waters
Stones laid flat against spiraling columns and stained glass windows
To peer into
Ugly Child Blog 