Her words were foreign
Drenched in eloquence befitting a queen.
Her lips, soft as silk
Moved provocatively in rhythm,
Pale red flowers opening,
Covered in dew.
Her hands were treasonous,
Treachery deep as canyon passes,
Leading me to sin
As an accomplice to her shame.
Her eyes, darkened earth
Penetrate my hardened heart
And fertile shoots entangle such.
Her hair, my hangman’s noose
A hammock for all my thoughts
A final rest.
Moonlit Poetry 