Imp

By: ailsaandlisa

Jan 13 2012

Category: poem, sonnet

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She broke into my home by full moon light.
I screamed. I bled. I wept. She took control
of day and night, when I might rest, when eat.
She sucks my thin white blood and drinks her fill.
A wooden marionette on fraying threads,
I plod and plod until she lets me sit.
I thirst for sleep. I dream of being rid
of this: alone in my own air! But yet
her crown smells sweet as freshest sourdough bread.
She makes me love her almost every beat
of every hour. Short interludes of rage
are silenced by the spell cast by her face:
sea eyes, rose lips, hair spidery and black.
Her honey breath makes blossom out of dark.

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