A Bride for Death

In the cold night, there is only the heat of her lips in
spite of the chill, smiles with some form

of delight, as the curl of her hair whips in the wind-a
war of tangles around her face, her teeth bleached

in the moonlight. As her eyes sparkle, in mischief maybe? HER
spite is terrifying as she was "once upon a time" beautiful

of all the graves in all the world, some skeleton named
DEATH thought she was too perfect to die

Angela Morgan's In Spite of War: "In Spite of War, In Spite of Death"

Two Sylvia’s Press December Prompts

As an artist, poems are like paintings, NEVER DONE. You’ll notice in this video recording that I edited this piece AGAIN. This happens, especially when you read your work out loud and allow yourself to change the rules when they don’t suit the piece anymore.

Made this video with the help of Lumen5.