We blend together like honey and milk,
Like razor-sharp blades on pearly skin,
Like widows to dark apparel cling—
We are together with flowers and spring.

In her arms were forty streams,
And stars in her hair—seven.
She sat above the angels’ wings,
And they carried her to heaven.

There to dwell—where, I can’t tell.
Too far, too soon, she swayed and fell.
The sky hid her without farewell,
Beyond all earthly possessions.

She bites the pomegranate—
not with hunger,
but with a soft kind of ache,
like remembering a song too late at night.

Juice ribbons down her wrist
in rivulets of rubies,
sanguine silk,
each seed a small beating heart
she swore she’d never swallow.

The orchard hums—
a low, bone-deep thrum of honey-thick dusk,
where shadows sleep in the eyes of foxes,
and the air tastes like cinnamon secrets.

There is gravity in sweetness,
a tug between teeth and truth.
She thinks: love is a fruit with a rind too thin to protect it
and eats anyway.

Inside her chest:
a garden blooming in reverse—
petals folding,
color bleeding into absence,
the sound of something unripening.

She is full now—
of myth, of molten memory,
of something holy and ruinous.
She smiles,
and the world forgets
what season it is.

The  
      moon now  
      floods the snow  
       with a silvern    
                                          kiss       ­                               
In                               ­                   
a robe                                                
the shade of                                              
night trimmed with star                                              
jewels                                                

She
sail­s on
death's white mist
bathed in eldritch
                      days                    

                                                              R­uns
                                                             ­   upon
                                                               the open seas
                                                            ­    of flame and ice
                                                             ­  free


Sweet
musky
  rose from fields
    blooms from Milky
Ways