smelling of dark violets, messy hair leans over my shoulder
hand-knotting threads, tumbling unkempt, wayward as she
whose red lips startles me, whose eyes look eerily familiar, i
wait for her to drawl or holler at me her moon-kept secrets
but she is silent, leaves me empty pages & pink crumbs of doubts
come dawn, she nudges me, to walk outside & breathe in the rain, i
do, inhaling tendril of knotweeds, lace puff of wild carrots, seeds
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Who's Your Muse by host Ingrid of Experiements in Fiction. My own personal muse(s) have been changing over time but I guess it is part of my journey. Thank you for your visits.