THE LAMIA

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Night is a woman
With fist-sized breasts
And bronze skin,
That’s soft like dusk’s lavender wine.
Her polished-bone eyes
Are the white halos
That encircle the moon.

Her fingers,
Strong and fierce,
Web across the sky
Like the bleak, barren limbs
Of a wintered tree,
Enclosing everything,
Locking it in her touch.

Smooth, milk thighs
Lengthen into rounded calves
As her back arches.
She Leans against the horizon
Tossing her thick, auburn hair backward,
So that it shimmers across the ocean,
Tickling the somber water into gentle fury.

She drips lazily across the treetops,
The stars balanced on her fingertips
Like a thousand silver razors.
Her tight, velvet skirt
Blushes the black mountains in liquid crimson,
As her arms, like a noose of ice,
Slip around my neck.

And I dream.

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