she dips her words
in molten moon-glow
scatters them over ebony sky
until they stick
she sketches rough drafts
traces cryptic constellations
how does she know our secrets?
she stretches metaphors
from star to star
now here we are
still tangled in the garland
A quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub. I am your host today. The word I have chosen to slip into your 44 word poems is “sketch”. Doors open at 3 p.m. Come join us!
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mishunderstood 