Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Chestnut Curls

Doves coo and a curtain
blows into the airwell.

A girl sits under the watchful
eyes of a gray, silk-clad nursemaid

only she can see. Stillness,
far from men's jackal

nuzzlings. Cigarette burning
between index and middle fingers.

The pale, empty morning after
is an eggshell in pieces,

fallen from higher places
littered with down feathers.

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