BlindClarity

Cinderella’s Alter Ego On Thursday’s, I’m a Diva. Sky scrappers on the heels, of my feet Soon I see past Babylon. The fringes of heaven. blurred, like fast forwarded memory too close to the sun. I would extend these woven arms, burning ashen earth, as I take lily steps. But when I know, when I touch it friday will chase the dawn.

Civil High City goers are used to, the smell of nicotine. Like soap on the clean amidst influenza and a buck. Us southerners, inhale the passing delicacy, suckered into brief hints of opium. Cause us cow milk-ers got problems to. Amidst apple pie, and gossip.

Carolina is a woman in the morning The wet earth, swallows the friction of your soles against paved thoughts, curved among her figure. I’ve paced saga’s against her bosom of open fields. Names etched in poppie’s I’ll never notice, among the sent of dogwood. -and on daring days, I’m content to clumsily drive up her legs. Oil spilling train tracks