Week 77

The potency of your apothegms

Drapes my darkness in regalia.

I grope your hazel eyes

In a mutually appreciative gaze.

I am tatterdemalion,

A leopardess in a nun’s habit.

I am alone in a room

Full of sidling,

Skull-faced strangers.

Elixirs of light, prisms of sound

You are my luminary

The swell of azure

Under a cavalcade of stars.


This Wordle was tough





25 thoughts on “Wordle #77

      1. That’s the first time I’ve heard of someone spraining something while writing poetry. πŸ™‚

  1. a leopardess in a nuns habit, what a contradiction eh?
    Those last three lines are quite enduring, especially after the grit
    that precedes it.

  2. This reminds me of a book I read of a small group of Nuns on an island that were lost in time…
    Just attempting to see light where ever and when ever they could.

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