Manes grow in fields
dictated by the scarecrow;
lionesses sprouting on tufts,
harbor forests in their wombs.
An axe prepares,
rubbing against
barks of the baobab,
to commit suicide
and the poacher
shears his own skin,
selling it to the night.
But the ivory tusks of sunrise
return to avenge themselves,
sinking into the pond;
wounded ripples spread
across the water's body
like a lust-fire
seizing the forest
inside the pregnant lioness,
that dies of thirst
while water bleeds to death.


I think that word is perfect in this write... something about the colors that mesh so very well together... lovely. I enjoyed. 
3 old applause
