January 22nd: *I awaken from my slumber with a loose line in my head. As my mind seeks to attach it to some narrative, I recall Rossetti’s ‘Proserpine’ and take to typing this poem roughly near 5:20am in the morning* (Finished around 6:55am).
An empty incense burns beside
and beckons for the beauty
in the alms that were adjourned.
Bequeathed to Death, as if to Life,
the curse of Myrrha holds
the remnants of remembrance
by the seed that stains her folds.
An alabaster artifice
is all that’s left of love-
A portrait of the daughter,
none would slaughter twice the dove.
-Image: Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s ‘Proserpine’ (1874)-