The Graceful Touch of Saint




Title artwork by Patrice Murciano. Click image to visit his studio.



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Exotique “Soul Ballet”





As my fingers glanced the dark side of her heart
The chill within my own turned into flame
This sinner had touched upon something of infinite grace
An angel no less, dressed in crimson, parading no name


The storm in her eyes comprised melody divine
With that, she placed her tiny hands in mine
Looked deep within my soul and told of thirst long unrequited
I offered up my neck and then suggested that she bite it
Had she been a vampire, one could say I was inviting my demise
Yet, I discerned reflection and besides, this was around the break of sunrise


There was sorrow in her eyes
That of desperation maddening
A need for satiation I found desperately saddening
No dirty face on this angel
No fractured halo at her feet
Just an aroma of the bittersweet
Which undeniably reminded me of me


My razor blade lips then eclipsed her final breath
As she leant in expecting the kiss known as death
And found herself wanting of epitaph
Tragically miscast at her own wake
Her eternal curse my thirst to slake
Holy wine between us as it flowed through every artery
Entitling her rise from fall from grace


This sinner’s touch, a saintly embrace
And a thousand bleeding cuts no longer traced the gentle contours of her face
“You are seen and quite clearly insane” were my words
This mad queen was sincerely no stranger to rich vein of verse
Moreover, composure like hers isn’t learned
Had been given exposure and mastered in turn


Her eyes gave full disclosure of the soul within her chest
So I took my razor blade and snipped the straps of her red satin dress
Let it drop to her feet
Not to feast on her bittersweet flesh
To impress upon the precipice of long undressing blessing


Fingers pressing deep into her cavity
Razors red with bled conviction
Each redressing wounds no more presumed to suit such majesty
Healing hands awakening her faith in absolution
Making a believer of one cleaved of all belief in elocution


As my fingers glanced the dark side of her heart
It burst into infinite flame
Several lifetimes of pain then subsided
And the razor’s kiss duly confided
That an angel so graceful should never be chased into hiding


There is truth in her light
Found the proof of a life cast in shadow
No longer inclined to such harrowing madness
Yet, fully embracing of every dash of crazy
Eyes wide open, vision nowise wintry and hazy
For she is seen and believed
This bittersweet angel
This ironclad maiden of impenetrable daisy chains


A thousand blood red razor blades parade within her smile
And all the while, she serenades those blind enough, refined enough to trust that faith can place a flame in very coldest hearts
That in itself is an art form to cherish
Embellishing crowns with the diamonds of betterment
Evidently mad and most definitely a queen
Within the river blind, finally seen






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