Peaches

hands like soft peaches

sweet and nonconforming

combing through hair of spun silk

so roughly delicate

caressing your visage sculpted by cherubs

look at her

so sad

misery in her perfume

she intoxicates

finding comfort in goblets filled with sorrow

sipping it's salty disposition

knowing of the absence of feeling

loathing the emptiness,

to feel numbness in the fingertips sew of velvet

she finishes her book

bound in stitches and raven's wings

signing her last words in blood