Lemon Stone


Face porous like lemon stone,
herbal in her ingrained stare,
hair placed in patterns
like dreamcatcher strings.
Literature pouts from her rounded
speech-givers, giving the waiter
a lusting for mild conversation
and a peak at the skin
under the earth-tones cloth.
Enough rings for all of the planets,
and hands that one wishes
to pass gently over theirs.
So petite and curveless,
but thought provoking
and provoked by much
the same thing.


2 thoughts on “Lemon Stone

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