ADDENDUM :

We cry out for what we have lost. We embrace the containing words. Two hundred tongues and sixty six white violets for all memories that were not a blur. And no one knew where the night was going and no one knew when it would end. And no one knew what would happen next not even the howling wind. And I have begun to long for you and how you kissed my body ripe because I remember that the night has no terrors for the one who lWe cry out for what we have lost. We embrace the containing words. Two hundred tongues and sixty six white violets for all memories that were not a blur. And no one knew where the night was going and no one knew when it would end. And no one knew what would happen next not even the howling wind. And I have begun to long for you and how you kissed my body ripe because I remember that the night has no terrors for the one who lays down wearing white. So I have kept nothing for myself, Mary Magdelene was not a whore. Beauty is everywhere distilled out of hard times and it thickens the faculties of my sword. And this is not a memory of what I deserve nor a story on the wages of some war. It's the perfection. It's the destruction. It's the bloom. It's the fade. It's the rose. It's the woman. It's just me ripping my heart out again. It's just me and my confident effortless allure. It's just another blurred memory. It's just a root as I praise creation joyously and Mary Magdelene was not a whore.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson