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The Arcane MAG
Our starch stiff bed-sheets
Were like new sails of a pirate ship
Billowing, rippling with nomadic leaves
Shaking so hard I was afraid the stamped vintage flowers
Would peel off and become tangled
In the coarse screen of willow branches
And then there was you
In your bare feet
Pockets hanging out the bottom of cut-off jeans
A tight, feminine curl resting over a large green eye
The petrified eyes I embezzled from you
The eyes that describe us perfectly
the envious thieves, the idle gypsies
laying in the jealous spring grass
Another stolen laundry day
© Anonymous
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