She-Thing by Barbara Moore

More Poetry By Barbara Moore

A Lighter Shade Of Fade

Finding My Voice

Winds rage purposefully
causing blackened waves
to killer-crash against the boat
defying warnings of a storm

Tied to the mast
by jealous hands
with angry fingers
the she-thing cannot move

Only her raven eyes
and sultry mouth
open and shut
as ocean foam meets rain

pounding the face
whose eyes had strayed
salting the lips
whose kiss betrayed

Barbara Moore © 2011