Smoldering Nard

Smoldering nard
swirling,
like smeared onyx
soot around her pale
nude skin.

She lies breech,
her carved walls,
etched out
like a bereaved
stranger

seeking comfort
from the cowards
strewn about waiting,

solemnly to quaff
quicksand
on the makeshift
ridge of her
mistakes
in queue
to spew her secrets.

Her words
bulge like swollen
veins upon collapse.
Spilling
into unstained
demitasse cups
set atop frilly parsley withered.

Licentious and promiscuous
wench,
licking words, words
from your mouth
before
they are spoken.

She frolics
with her frozen
tongue down your
throat retrieving only
what you dare
to speak.

Her smile
like fresh picked
poppies lapping
splintered
aquamarine on
the ninth day

Her voice
ravages, like a
coarse rhythmic
raven caw abusive
to your frequency

She continues
incessantly causing
your face to wrinkle
like sheltered
sin

Spurned
by a wall of stone
stacked tall
by a crowd who
works best
in darkness.