At the Crematorium
white smoke curls
and coils
and drifts
- a wisp
of your hair.
Blood-red rich roses
thrive in bone rich soil
velvety smooth
and secret-scented
- the inside skin
of your wrists.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
At the Crematorium
white smoke curls
and coils
and drifts
- a wisp
of your hair.
Blood-red rich roses
thrive in bone rich soil
velvety smooth
and secret-scented
- the inside skin
of your wrists.
© M.L.Emmett
A version first published in New Poets 14: Snatching Time
