Black Widow

My new poem on Conceited Crusade!

Conceited Crusade

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Blindfolded bliss, she sees visions within

her sleek, dark, veil. It’s the science of

spells, to conjure up want.

Black skies beckon stars to burst

in their spot, and her eyes

follow him into crowds, far away,

watch him now, slowly turn,

slowly fan little flames,

at her nod, he’ll combust

burning hot, singing grass.

And she’ll bless the

cold moon, when she sees

him emerge, ghostly pale,

and sure-footed on that scorched,

broken, ground.

Image Credit

Tricia Sankey

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