Poetry: Ximena

By Sebastian Milla
Fluffyisgod@gmail.com

I’ve fathered a daughter
She has no brothers or
Mother, her hands have
A porcelain gleam
The sun in her eyes refracts
Every color like the moon at night
When she bathes in the water
I am her father she will
Have no lover
As long as I have
Pen and page

My daughter is a muse
She robes herself in the
Waning hearts of men
On mountains high
In between mountains
She plants all her
seeds among them
The skin on her bones,
White as snow,
Cold to touch yet
Soft to hold
They eat her whole,
Golden locks and all
My daughter the
Painted girl

Late at night I made
Love to a mother
I ate her flower petals
And knew
That the ink that spilled from
Her would find it’s way to
flood my arteries
flood my veins
Though my heart to my aching
Fingertips to
Flood my pen
Flood my page
It kept on flowing until she came
To a full, and sudden
Stop.