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.

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