Those Buttermilk Braids

by DeathNoteMathChick

I wished for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A squiggle of sunshine and mother’s pearl cream.
She was nesting in my secret window-box,
Nursing a rag doll of sunset silk.
I dreamed I fed her cornspun moonshine;
Her teeth were ice cube straight when she laughed.

I planned for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A tangle of stunning galaxy hearts and plain earthen souls.
She was gathered in my pencil-box,
Growing eyes like pools of solid lithium.
I aspired to clothe her in the lily-scented tides;
Her skin was carbon-clear as she laughed.

I set a snare for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A net of entrusted encounters and bejeweled bewitchments.
She was stretched inside my lighted cupboards,
Seeping gossamer gowns colored like twilight lilypads.
I begged her to still her frantic snow-bone struggles;
Her tears were cold oxygen cobalt when she died.

I remembered a girl with buttermilk braids,
The red phosphorus burn on the oak-and-cherry floor where she fell.
I enclosed her in a burnt-sparrow-feather coffin,
Sprinkling excess pine needles to float among the lilies.
I glimpsed that her hair had darkened in death, a shade;
Her blood-drops were dead rubies when I uncoiled the elderberry syrup formation.

Stone cold.

http://www.youngwritersproject.org/node/71044

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