Narcissus

She crowns her soul with daffodils.
Each dawn the sun kisses her awake,
Jealous of her radiance.

She keeps her terraces behind perfect
Painted pickets, just bursting yellow light
Into all strangers' eyes.

House windows wide open, she dances wild
She pours herself a drink, and catches her
Reflection in her gold grasp.

Her supple legs are bound to Earth
The dirt cascading down her calves.
She grew from the pretty soil.

On beds of blooming jonquils she falls
With joy in ample supply cresting far
Down her naked body's length.

She cries with vanity and love.
She screams with glee and hope.
She loves what she wants. It's her.

Author's Note

First foray into iambic pentameter!

Reviews

[RAP]

Perfect imagery for a narcissus, love that last stanza. The crown of daffodil blossoms is a novel thought along with "pretty soil".

[Emily]

Thank you!