Sexual Musings :: Gypsy

There is a restless gypsy spinning circles inside my dancehall of a heart; crushed wheatgrass and Black-eyed Susans curtsying beneath my bare feet, kohl smudged and shining eyes in the darkness, catching flint from the fire with the golden bells at my wrist. With every twirl, Night strokes fingers across the bones of my pale hips and whispers: “Birds perish in gilded cages, little one. You must unchain yourself, for your time is but black cinders and floating ash if you believe you are only worthy of what ‘they’ think. Tell me. What do ‘they’ know of rippling plains and unfettered heartbeats? What do ‘they’ know of ancient meadows and unshackled desire?”

©️ Pearl Bayou 2018

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