poetry

Luna. {poetry}

 

She
In tongues
Of moon
Like marrow soul
Stripped her worth upon her spine
Cast her limbs

Fleetingly
To vastness
And yellowed shrine

Upon the wind-stung sky
She twirled her tongue
About her woolen teeth
And blossomed it to wildflower steep
And sorrow
Like dawn upon her sapling cheek

With the current of her gallows breath
She bloomed her seed
To fevered sight
And water welled to bated crest
And white

She spilled her skin
To tendril and daffodil flaming beat
A fame
Of scorch and surety
Of sin
She fell her palms
To prayer
Soft upon her bidden seas
She drowned me in her sinking chest
And exquisitely
I swallowed her to flesh
Sweet against my own

She became the bounty girth
Of thighs borne to earth upon the symbol sky
She became soil twined with shadow seethe
And fainting fireflies
Ignite upon my sounded sigh
She became a willow weep
And gentling leaf
Brushed to fainting scarlet
And uttered wreathe
And sweat upon my changeling deed

She became limbs that know the sea too oft
A whitecap smile
Stained to plea upon her grape wine sheathe
She became rose blood blinks
And ink upon her heaven lore
She rose from sands
Of infant isle wail
And wore the sky
Like the coolest spine
Of words a quaff upon her holy rind

She bore the world to moon skin curd
And waste
And envelope smile
In grin a gale upon her skin
She brushed her skin to wild pale
And symphony
And howled her teeth to lion’s roar
An epitaph sealed upon her holy core

She became the lightning in my step
And the tip of my ruin chin
Like sun-warm cask
And sodden quill
A script upon my ignite wail
She wore her teeth like broken beats
And poured her breast
To ink and seethe
She stained my own to dovetail swain
And swallowed me to tongued rain
Like royalty
And wind-felled morn
She pined her flesh to ash
And burned her chin to beastly lash
So I may cup
Like prayer
The sky’s glacial sigh
Like silk
As I pour my skin to self
And bone to uttered wealth

She dipped her neck in gilded breath
And upon her face
The moon she silver draped
Like wild grace
And harvest phantom trace

She cooled her palms to damsel night
And swore her skin into star-wet light
She buried her breath to hallow mask
And hung her throat
Like creed

She sunk her skin
To sordid sanctity
And blanched her palms
To midnight plea
Her lips a gentle bough
Of moon-skin symphony
And lunged deed
Lone upon her sweet-ink cheek

She breathed her skin to light
And drowned her life
To unsung strife
And sea upon her white-ink tide
She dipped her bones to blood
And found worth about her noble flood
Like woman
She birthed her sin to fearful sound
And upon midnight’s typeface prowl
She stitched her skin
To fester brow
And word upon her lightning bough

Finite she lay her bone
To sacred prow
Like fathom blushed to haggard breast
And bleed
And brutality
She wore her skin to paper fainting howl
And eternity
Like welt upon her ever bloodless vow
Like mouth upon her teething bow
And destiny
Like soil reaped to light and lord
Like fire upon the seashore’s ebb and feel and pyre

She peeled her limbs to rash
And wore them
Like divinity and rage
Like lust
And the softest grace
Cooled to breath
And bathed to thirst
And bloodless bruising surf
Like mourn upon her ocean sigh
Like breath and twilit lash
She spoke herself to hurried lungs
And gorge
That stained her teeth
To wild night
And sorrow
Like fallen sea

A rust deemed
To worth upon her starstuff bleed.

***

EmilyPurcell02Emily Purcell views writing as an orgasmic means of self-destruction and the truest form of beauty to tangibly exist: as a salve of ink and eloquence to soothe her soul. She first realized that she could write when her 7th grade teacher brought her dog to class and told her to “Write a story about her! Get to it!” and hasn’t looked back. Poetry, she believes, chooses its vessels into written word from birth and that she was gifted its scarlet essence, born with the extraordinary duty to be that medium. When asked why she writes, Emily answers, “It is how I know. It is how I breathe.” Emily thrives from written word and it often consumes her into the wee hours of the night. It burns electric in her veins and she seeks only to ignite the world with it: a monumental task, but a goal that finds its sinew atop her bones. She is a student in her home state of Virginia and enjoys emails, feedback, and any correspondence with others! You can reach her via email and follow her on Instagram.

***

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