Through night-blooming jasmine
she takes flight, the essence of love
spilling from gossamer wings.
Musings of poésie falling
through strands of curls, a trail of desire
falls gracefully in her wake.
She makes no apology for who she is,
her beliefs, her truths, her spilled need.
To his light she flies, like Icarus towards
the sun, unscathed she flitters around his radiance —
her inspiration, her salvation, her answered prayers.
The understanding of the world unnecessary,
It’s not the spotlight she seeks,
glimpses of a gentle heart,
tender thoughts whispered in mingled moonlight,
as she wraps her moth-soft words around
the Few, the Lucky, and the Enchanted.
— Violet Tudor
Danielle Grace Photography
Do Not Reproduce In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017
Credit to Lawrence Durrell for the word ‘moth-soft’.