She is the color of Swahili Aphrodite laidagainst the night sky—not limited to darkness.
She kisses the sun red
down to a matter of perspective
so her view of the world isn't so bad.
Her presence brings a tear to the eye
like raindrops that distort your
reflection on the edge of a pond.
She dances off the high of long-winded
debates on heaven and hell's existence
while running her hands over loved
ones whose time has yet to come.
All after washing the dirt
one last time in the same
bathwater she used to
cure her loneliness.
©2014 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
writing from the perspective of the dead for Poetics...