Natalie Would Silk light simplifying the world, how soft-fallen each curl wanders unheard. Mourning whimpers wagering the life of a girl, each gentle demand a war gripping fists of fertile sherds planting thrusting kisses onto her hard soil, dampening her plush floor. Nature whistling—feral cats calling suns to descend—indecencies address her molten form with torn verbs. Not shaken but spurned, understood yet unheard, she couldn’t run, but Natalie would. Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related August 6, 2014 Categories: Poetry