A Calling to Ancients

Her thoughts were wisdom.
The wisdom of ages,
writ on papyrus, rolled,
or in pages.

Her perfume? A musk,
a calling to ancients,
carried by the breeze,
to much higher places.

Her skin? Supple and soft,
stretched perfect, taut
around her bones, aged.

She’s naked, concealing naught.

But, her Words…

Her Words are razors,
like fist-gripped shards,
skin-digging edges,
or glass shavings.

They cut deeply,
the sharpest words
upon the edges
of her sharp pages.

©️ CGT, 2018.

Talk to me.

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