SHE WAS MAD
Winter nestled
baby-blue blanket earth
into bright sparkles of infinity-
White cotton snow,
brimming over heart
warmed black lamppost glow.
Snowflakes fall,
Flint and Flicker amber flamed air,
weaving whimsical whims
of purple rose dreams
he seemed to frequent often.
He did,
he had her porcelain heart flushed
rosy cheek-blushed, eyes
silver frost night, resting
on ever-green pine.
She was captivated, quite taken
by the cranberry mistletoe sky.
Time ticks, twilight slips, escapes
in secret
between daylight and darkness;
civil, nautical, astronomical dusk
strips down the darkest moment
just before dawn.
Bare and brave, she stows and stuffs
gloomy grey thoughts down
blue jean pockets,
full of old memories,
bearing no fruit-
He, nestled into dark night snug
like hands hold together tight-
He walked and walked down
milky white path in Central Park Heights.
His head and feet faced solid ground.
Boot straps flap, Toe-tap, crack-
Crackle. Crunch. Cracks, ice-cracked snow
broken down,
by the baby pink Camilla tree.
There, he saw her rainbow reflection
thrown
toward the distant edge of night.
It was her muse, fully cast
frosted-blue crescent light.
A slice of darkness bemoaned her mind,
she split in half yet held him high-
He fell quite deep in phantom mist
so much so, he couldn't resist-
He caught her breath, wrapped
in Persian silk; teal blue and burgundy
patterns, bold and brilliant pomegranate
stitch, yellow ecstasy silken-spun, twirling
amber history, she was a tangled mystery-
sweet mouthed, under lilac eyes.
She. was. something.
A standing starry stunner
struck midnight's hunger!
lingering love hung crisp cold air
standing still, she hadn’t a care
Her presence was powerful,
potent and bold.
Her mind,
desperate could no longer hold
She was mad.
Mad-
MAD I tell you!
MAD!
She was mad-
Madly, in love.
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 2016
Winter nestled
baby-blue blanket earth
into bright sparkles of infinity-
White cotton snow,
brimming over heart
warmed black lamppost glow.
Snowflakes fall,
Flint and Flicker amber flamed air,
weaving whimsical whims
of purple rose dreams
he seemed to frequent often.
He did,
he had her porcelain heart flushed
rosy cheek-blushed, eyes
silver frost night, resting
on ever-green pine.
She was captivated, quite taken
by the cranberry mistletoe sky.
Time ticks, twilight slips, escapes
in secret
between daylight and darkness;
civil, nautical, astronomical dusk
strips down the darkest moment
just before dawn.
Bare and brave, she stows and stuffs
gloomy grey thoughts down
blue jean pockets,
full of old memories,
bearing no fruit-
He, nestled into dark night snug
like hands hold together tight-
He walked and walked down
milky white path in Central Park Heights.
His head and feet faced solid ground.
Boot straps flap, Toe-tap, crack-
Crackle. Crunch. Cracks, ice-cracked snow
broken down,
by the baby pink Camilla tree.
There, he saw her rainbow reflection
thrown
toward the distant edge of night.
It was her muse, fully cast
frosted-blue crescent light.
A slice of darkness bemoaned her mind,
she split in half yet held him high-
He fell quite deep in phantom mist
so much so, he couldn't resist-
He caught her breath, wrapped
in Persian silk; teal blue and burgundy
patterns, bold and brilliant pomegranate
stitch, yellow ecstasy silken-spun, twirling
amber history, she was a tangled mystery-
sweet mouthed, under lilac eyes.
She. was. something.
A standing starry stunner
struck midnight's hunger!
lingering love hung crisp cold air
standing still, she hadn’t a care
Her presence was powerful,
potent and bold.
Her mind,
desperate could no longer hold
She was mad.
Mad-
MAD I tell you!
MAD!
She was mad-
Madly, in love.
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 2016
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