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Flesh
as delicate as petals arching
before they wither.
Her skin
as fair as the cloud-
sequined sky
stripped of dawn; her hair
the intensity of the night
devoid of stellar mockery
and lunar pride. She moves
with the grace of a solitary
ripple on a lake,
at one with the wind
to lament the passing
of rain. Falling like dew
from burdened leaves, her tears
unnerve
the ground that cradles
every impression left
behind. She walks
(she crawls) her last
while the earth trembles
(and the heavens grieve)
at the thought of such
exquisite feast
- Souless