Prompt: Incorporating Twenty Little Poetry Projects into one poem
Gimlet
eyes, focused like a smoking gun
The
candy-corn stripe of her sinuous upper lip
Trembled
in the dark like a Cheshire cat smile
The
air tastes butter-warm in cold mouths
Her
scent is that of old bones and talc
Charged
with electricity:
Musty,
dangerous, a tangible prickle
Over
my skin
Hell Helle Hellebore
It’s
noon in Paris, the ticking minutes
Reflected
in her metronome gaze
She
drifts by, scentless, silent
The lilacs bloom in Central Park
today
Clustered like grapes on the vine
Overripe, sweet perfume like sticky
juice
Dripping over nose and mouth
A
finif will get you a bet going nowhere fast:
Hell
is her name, therefore, hellion
Yo buska ku bos teng kantu sen
Ke faze fabor
The
reticulate shadow of seduction
Is
a gauze curtain veiling a mystery
A
verdant tree sending roots deep
Insidiously
breaking up foundations and ground
A
weed in an oasis of plenty
She
walks on air, and her wings unfurl
Black
as steel, sharp as words
As
she steps into the night towards the moon
The
Dame is a flower at evensong
She
shall unfurl her petals like a skein of silk
Watching
as knights and errants war in times soon to be
For
the favour of a dropped pearl-smile
The
stars are her heartbeat, tu l’as vu? Mais
oui!
The
gun in well-oiled silence
Settles
with a wordless purr
Into
the cradle of her warm, warm hand
In
her hair a rose blooms like a blood drop
Scarlet
as the painted mouths of the dead
Their
old bones shrouded in lace
And
the scent of old women’s talc.
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