Blood ran, deep plum wine
Seeping through slender slits
On a thin violet wrists
Oozing from blue- green veins,
The colour of dancing peacocks
Blending evenly with ebony eyes,
Frozen, fixed upon the gray cement
Copper skin stilled and
Strands of raven-black waves hair blowing
Floating to and fro in the translucent wind,
A silhouette, a cold statue of painted porcelain,
Not a sigh of breath through her burgundy lips
Even death, she wore beautifully
R. A. Douglas
May 17, 2016.
π‘. π. ππΈπΎπ°π΅πͺπΌ 
β€οΈ