Poetry

At dusk, when moon was coming up 
fidelity was challenged. 
No soul was searched. 
It was the body scarred in bright sun. 
 
One pink petal flew over the cloud 
and landed on the lake. 
Will you gather the name and 
send it back home? 
 
It was a sacred gem, in the 
navel of organdie, you had 
worn on the night of a slaughter. 
Opalescence, scolds the light, 
 
dark was beautiful?