You’re wicked, wicked as a black rose growing through
the thick ice sheets of Antartica,
wasted as a red wine rising witch in the
sanctum of Hell’s ruler, but succulent as
the Lamb of God, soon to be eaten by the starving
peasants, that roam the ville, hungry for your
long lustrous locks, to coat the wounds of there
bleeding eyes, unable to find satisfaction
with the living, they bleed because they are blind
to the sun , and revelant to the darkness, but with
a relic of your embodiment in there hands,
they no longer feel worthless, because you are more
than the evolution of Adam’s rib evolving in
Eden’s garden, because you are more beautiful than
the Virgin Mary, spotless of religious make-up,
with her arms spread wide like Christ the Redeemer,
standing all-natural in front of Christianity’s mirror,
dazzled at how you are the enemy of Adam’s lover,
do to Eve’s envy, growing like ivy, on the rose
ivory covered mansion, of your facial epiphany-
Todays best new poem was written by K. Jones.
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