The illusion of elegance,
copied from her mother.
Childhoods left undealt with,
but she wears her traumas
around her neck in that
beautiful southern style
passed down from her mother.
Enforces her new rules,
ignoring the past that got her there
for a new sense of priority.
Her pearls are lost,
sold long ago by someone else,
and she has forgotten
what they stood for.

Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Warming her pearls, her *******
gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.

Published by Erosha, The Eclectic Muse, Muse Apprentice Guild, Nisqually Delta Review, Erbacce, Poetry Life & Times and Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: warming, pearls, bath, *******, constellations, belly, rotund, Rubens, mrbsex, body, art, painting, ******, erotica, ****, ******, naked, flesh

Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Warming her pearls, her *******
gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.

Published by Erosha, The Eclectic Muse, Muse Apprentice Guild, Nisqually Delta Review, Erbacce, Poetry Life & Times and Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: warming, pearls, necklace, *******, belly, rotund, Rubens, Rubenesque, ****, painting, art, bath, bathing, seductive, sensuous, baroque, full-figured

⠺⠁⠌⠫⠀⠍⠥⠝⠊⠰⠝⠀
⠕⠝⠀⠏⠁⠇⠁⠉⠫⠀⠇⠯⠎⠀
⠞⠗⠥⠹⠀⠊⠎⠀⠁⠝⠀⠊⠇⠇⠥⠨⠝⠀
⠺⠂⠏⠕⠝⠗⠽⠀⠊⠎⠀⠉⠕⠝⠞⠗⠕⠇­⠇⠫⠀⠡⠁⠕⠎⠀
⠍⠕⠞⠊⠧⠁⠰⠝⠀⠁⠙⠐⠓⠎⠀⠞⠕⠀⠮⠀⠞⠗⠥⠑⠌⠀⠇⠊⠑⠎⠀
⠯⠀⠃⠑⠇⠊⠑⠋⠀⠔⠀⠙⠑⠎⠊⠗⠑⠎⠀⠉⠁⠙⠰⠑­⠀
⠁⠇⠇⠀⠏⠻⠊⠩⠀⠁⠞⠀⠮⠀⠔⠀⠑⠎⠉⠁⠏⠁⠃⠊⠇⠰⠽
⠞⠀⠊⠎⠀⠙⠑⠌⠔⠽⠀
⠁⠇⠇⠀⠿⠀⠁⠀⠏⠑⠜⠇⠀
⠋⠁⠊⠹⠀⠕⠧⠻⠀­⠙⠊⠁⠍⠕⠝⠙⠎⠀

i concentrate my inherent connection to them
into potent strands of silk;
distill memories of them
into pearls

taken from the air
transformed into something
that no longer gives life

Within the stomach of the world
The country stretches its branches, uncurled
Who is the horror of Napoleon Bonaparte?
Who darkens and fools the heart?
Often when man is shaken to the core
Other worlds sneak peeks in his door
And even in the junction of cattle
Metaphysical and mystical truths dazzle
Touched by the sea, a vision came
The pearls of the earth in flames
A jackdaw perches itself on pistons
Radiating heat from all of its mission
His mystic sense stayed tight beneath eyelids
Yet lit the flame in all said and undid
Like a voice in the wilderness
Or even a prophet of old, who might deliver us.

When I die
I want
Roses to bloom
From beneath my grave
Violets and blue-bells
And emerald grass
Blooms in my memory
Is all that I ask
Daisies
And Daffodils
Poppies
And pink -petaled lilies
Ruby-like flowers
Amethyst strokes
Perhaps pearls
Scattered
I'm my resting place
Would be lovely
When
I
Die