Dis placeholder
by Claretta Holsey
Down this moon-forgotten
Corridor, the body
Of her hem is prey
To her hips' sashay.
Every fiber of this midnight
Folds her deep in three-toned
Shadows,
Father, mother, holy
Spirit echoes––
Who? Who?
Chalky, rounded, incomplete,
There is answer in the street––
Blood-lines sewn from scratches
Onyx-blackened, she is
Sign of absence
Swung then swayed, rocking
Semi-precious
Ache.
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