Empress of the Succulents, A Contradiction

Her skin: soft as the edge of her sword

And her hair: carved from the volcanic ashes.

Her heart: away from advancing toward

His hardline lips; and her faint eyelashes:

Disguising keys to his grave, shallow as--

 

Her eyes: the deepest oceans, frozen 'ver

And her face: warm as Persephone's buried

Home. Her fingers: plump as the tip of her

Knife. Her condition: vital as her breed--

Disease. Her pain: harmless as the zealous fire.

 

His patience: failing so often as

Omnipotency of Infinte LOVE.

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world

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