Tangled and twisted, a coil of shed skin,
Crushed petals caught in the vine
Thinly-veiled - smooth and pulsating -
Vulnerable.
A pattern revealed in the dusk;
A bleeding heart swollen, exposing the crimson,
Bright on white, oh so bright,
Caught in the dance of drifting petals,
Moonbeam plucked one by one…
Two horns twist in a feral beauty –
To conquer, to glorify the rush of life as
It lifts…crushes…betrays…
White petals on red, floating down upon his back.
He lifts his head, nose to the wind.
The scent’s strong, rising up, the vine caught
Upon his horns, punctured and permeated,
Entwined.
Dena L Moore
July 1, 2010
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