Empress of the Succulents, A Contradiction
Her skin: soft as the edge of her sword
And her hair: carved from the volcanic ashes.
Her heart: away from advancing toward
His hardline lips; and her faint eyelashes:
Disguising keys to his grave, shallow as--
Her eyes: the deepest oceans, frozen 'ver
And her face: warm as Persephone's buried
Home. Her fingers: plump as the tip of her
Knife. Her condition: vital as her breed--
Disease. Her pain: harmless as the zealous fire.
His patience: failing so often as
Omnipotency of Infinte LOVE.
This poem is about:
Me
My country
Our world