Cornflowers

by tinethewordsmith

.

Her skin is mottled blue,

like the halo that

graces her eyes.

.

They’re hickeys born

of lipstick stains–

the rough woolen

threads of his

jaundiced nails and

the stolen kisses of

his two-by-fours.

.

She wears it around

though, that skin of

mottled blue–

love’s crowning glory.

.

It is a coat, knitted

by his golden tooth

and anvil fists, prized.

It is a story written in red.

.

His fingers made it

with petals plucked

from the cornflowers

grown on her face.

.

His tongue wove it

with the cornflowers

tended on her arms, and

 his foot crocheted the

shades of blue on her legs.

.

Then his love

sewed it on her

flesh and etched it

on her bone, with

the cornflowers

watered by her tears.

.

He is her rose.

.

She is his garden.

7 Comments to “Cornflowers”

  1. I admit freely that I don’t fully understand the meaning, but the imagery, and emotions are poignantly conveyed.

  2. Really lovely piece of writing. I would love if you would submit this to http://www.thebluenib.com it is superb

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