Proserpina
met death in a sexy negligee
--she had a heavy violet head;
the neck was white & naked,
grainless as baguette bread ...
incredible
leatheresque texture of her flesh.
that desiccated nest
--mesh of rigid stems,
wilted petals, wasted leaflets ...
next to an unkempt bed
--the 100-thread linen set--
a mess ...
wet, where she slept,
wept, sweat within
electric blankets. drank
a strict regimen of medicine.
she never did get better;
instead regressed.
red hedonist dress,
a velvet effigy stretched
in the closet. kept.
it begs the question--
confess. regret. reflect
on wretchedness, etc …
can\'t resuscitate … arrest.
her very expiry breath said yes. yes,
acceptance. under blessed duress.
as one feather left fell
from heaven, the frozen procession led
guests and silhouettes just west of hell.
© devin wayne davis 06
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