Poetry 8

Scales

By August

 

Shiny, flat legato of skin

Slippery tones of black

Creeping off my back

The black notes they theive

I grow again

 

Prickly, sinful staccato

Flecks of tiny, minor green

Patches stripping me of sheen

The green scales are harvested

I grow again

 

Curling chords of color

Waves of tonic, peaceful red

Smears of THEIR skin instead

I line the halls

With dead men

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