deepundergroundpoetry.com
Her Scrying Eyes
There are
crystal balls where
her eyes should
be. A pair of
placid lakes un-
rippled in a
shower of meteors,
refracting amber
starlight. They are
portals to the
dimensions she keeps,
that she grants
me passage. Scrying
glasses which blink
and shimmer when
she smiles - two hazel
suns that, if you
linger too long, will
draw tears, but you
will see
everything.
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