Civeta Dei

The Number Twelve Looks Like You

Pick up this doll

watch the girl dream

cups spill what holds, what holds, what holds tomorrow

clenching the fist and raising the brow

as glass enters the vein.



Justice shines in her dark eyes

an amber sky drips a tear upon a sunset

this is sephra's dream

ten crowns drop

parchment paper crumbles when curtains fall

shade this tribulation in pastels

silk feelings hurt.



The river holds the color you describe as love.