Read her mind; soaring sorrows;
years of solitude made her an errant coward;
strawberry bubble baths, no more;
just wandering brownish zombies at the bloody floor;
plucking infant’s ears at the nurseries,
tress flew out of the buss windows.
Mothers’ cries shreds puffy toxic lungs.
Has Eryngium grew on butterflies’ bones?
Ebony-like bones of a seductive curvy waist.
Now, read beyond her bones’ aroma.