Poetry

Crepuscular – Anthony Ward

She was blue.
Not blue in that it was forthcoming,
But that she was favoured.
Men tossed their eyes at her,
Exposing gaping holes-
Catacombs where souls resided,
Evaporating once exposed.
Her beached hair
Swaddling her face
As she conveyed the streets,
Somnambulant to her surroundings,
Walking away from sunsets
Into darkened crevices of the city.
Her body a trumpet,
Thumbs pressing down with elation,
Fingers splayed to expel the frenzy.

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