(no subject)
Every morning upon waking,
A fresh look at the face, flesh
Uncovered aging, small etchings
In the skin, written with
A powerful impermanence.
All of the stories stored
In smile wrinkles and scars,
The black blood, Love's toll
Coming out in the stool.
And here is the spot where she stood
Unmoved and ruling
With her rough hands and
Her violet voice, a veteran
Of these small battles
Making up a greater war.
She says "enough" when it is time
And she must be trusted
Even as she is feared.
For her spit is the glue holding all of this together.
A fresh look at the face, flesh
Uncovered aging, small etchings
In the skin, written with
A powerful impermanence.
All of the stories stored
In smile wrinkles and scars,
The black blood, Love's toll
Coming out in the stool.
And here is the spot where she stood
Unmoved and ruling
With her rough hands and
Her violet voice, a veteran
Of these small battles
Making up a greater war.
She says "enough" when it is time
And she must be trusted
Even as she is feared.
For her spit is the glue holding all of this together.