literature

Poetry,

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Literature Text

She is stardust leaving sweet bones
in her wake.  A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions
with kisses.  There is a hunger in her
freckled constellations, like spider webs
woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks backboned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page
left to rest in your mouth.
There are some tales not for telling.

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songs-of-flight's avatar

I wish I could write this well! Amazing! :-)