as i wrote
the sky blushed deeper
the seas swelled tightly
into chest hair curls
electric winds sucked up the greys

as i spoke
my teeth grew longer
her scales grew over my lips
and were tipped
a heavy sigh

a well's reflection
a villager's cry

Dear don't trust a golden beckon
with no bones in sight
Amour your heart
with weathered hands
Be wary which way
you face the moon

there are Lurking Things
for a shot
at turning you

Stay True.


francesca woodman