Bone Stains Sucretia


Your hips rattle the windows,

plum pandoras–

saturated bruises kiss the glass,

trim the dots–

the citrus auras

of Smallpox from your flaps–

condone preforations

catered to savory Caedri sinners,

give the bats a new itch.

 

The harpies model for the gargoyles,

a new era

of flappers laced with zombie thighs and skins–

born for dark cabaret.

 

Sucretia blushes bits of skeleton,

her bones etched in ivory–

euphoric,

parts ways with whispers–

the soft, undead dynamic.

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