In her Rapunzel tower
she watched and waited
for each night’s moon;
to rise from the window ledge
into full view,
waxing and waning
crescent yellow blue.
The lines in its face
told a story of heartache
she also knew;
the puckered pale flesh
weaving rivers across her thighs,
reflecting dead light
in the night sky.
Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English and writes. She is a curator on Blood into Ink, a collective member of The Whisper and the Roar & Sudden Denouement, and blogs at My Screaming Twenties. She is 24 and is enjoying the journey which is finding her voice.
Excellent poem 👍
The secretive moon can hold many mysteries of some dark stories to merry moments ! We can either call it an ally nor an adversary !!
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