Hazel colored Kolmården,
a marble cutter,
showed me one morning.
That’s what her eyes,
looked like against nightfall,
when she begged.
“Save me,” she whispered,
as feathers formed,
and drifted in the same breath.
I exhaled smoke,
And watched,
galaxies vanish between our lips.
What about my concrete,
and harbored self,
led her to ask?
Which vials possessed her
to prophesize,
a messiah in me?
Brilliant writing. You paint emotions very well.
I hope you enjoyed my two poems.
Tony Walton