My Baby GirlMature

Her eyes are as beautiful as the stars that have cursed them.

Staring blankly at the dark ceiling, she’s filled

With tangled puppets and limping dinosaurs.

I find the formidable innocence from within her moulded skull

And possess it with my dejection; the origami is unfolding.

She titters at the leaking clown gingerly clutching her ailing body.

 

Her toes are trying to wriggle free.

Her nose is melting the salty rain

Her heart is beating in repudiation.

 

I know she won’t slip, but I’ve been wrong before.

Maybe If I hold her close enough, she’ll soak up whatever

Itsy-bitsy vehemence I have left.

I must stop crying though for they’ll be back soon and

God forbid I spoil their flawed merriment.

This melancholy fool subsides with soporific singing.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed