Shades of Black

Sometimes it blushes amber in the pre-dawn,
An eerie ombre settled into a vanishing point.
Often it falls like dust,
A timberwolf haze in swishing fabrics,
Zwhip, zwhip, zwhip between expensive thighs,
Almost navy.
The darkest clings to the deep places,
Swollen rock wombs with craggly, limestone vulvas;
Your hands disappear in a fan before your eyes,
Colors snuffed out in an obsidian soup,
And you wonder if they were ever really there.

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~ by SimmerSnow on January 9, 2012.

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