by DavidKM

The Ophidian Priestess

Her raddled face, her ribs,

cobwebbed and brown,

loom like a leafless tree,

behind the glass.

I whisper a prayer,

before the guide moves

us to the next room,

I feel eyes upon me.

Dozing on the balcony,

I dream honeyed lisps,

urgency and thrashing coils,

the sound of scales.

Awake on a shredded cushion,

oozing punctures in my arm,

an ache in my ribs

and elsewhere.

Monday morning,

scales glitter on my pillow,

my unblinking face,

a stranger in the mirror.

End of poem

Forums: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.