Porcelain Girl

Porcelain girl

White fanned bouquet

Covers her heart

From the new day

Lovely brown eyes

Almonds in snow

Angel awakes

A trumpet blow

Expectant lips

Curved out from sand

The seer turns up

Her lover’s hand

But will she kiss

What is so blue?

Or slap it down

And grin adieu?

She does not know

How white whispered

Darkness or light

Time bewhiskered

Eternal now

Her sun at noon

Midnight’s old charm

Distilled a swoon

Not love, nor lust

Nothing but calm

Torments aside

A heart’s soft balm

Pretty to look

Pretty to hold

Nothing to break

Till she is sold

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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