Persephone’s Lamet
I nuzzle my pointed nose
against versed violets,
a patch of giddy flowers,
touched by the sun’s golden threads.
My fingers wrap around emerald stems,
hugging their pedicels like a wine glass.
A tickling breeze stirs sleeping magpies,
rattling a still forest, whispering in my veins.
Gusts of wind steal leaves,
balding my Scarlet oaks.
My fingertips yearn to trace
the lonely moon’s craters.
I dream of growing midnight
roses in luminous white sands.
Torn away from my sacred garden,
I wither under Hades’ mighty hand.
He twisted my singing flowers
into shrill screams floating in Styx.
My cotton dry mouth,
watered for a ripe pomegranate seed,
a bubble of sweet nectar, bursting on my tongue.
As an underworld delicacy, a pop
between my teeth, bled sweet juice,
Winter exhaled her cold breath, wilting
a forest of life, I nurtured by hand.
I dived into my melancholy mind.
Burying myself in rich regret,
floating upside down in Hades’ river.
Wash away my empty desires,
what a mockery of my dream work!
If I had not wished to wet my desert lips,
I’d slumber in my golden flowerbed.
The Ghost of Annabel Lee
Call me Annabel Lee, born into a kingdom carved alongside the sea.
A somber Poe, with a heart full of woe, fell madly in love with me.
Young and greedily, we loved each other deliriously.
With a love beyond love, ‘til Winter’s teeth sank into me.
A chilling breeze tore me away, ripping me from his embrace.
Our love beyond love, entered a storm wearing the Devil’s face.
With black magic, he harnessed the remains of my dying spirit.
Neither nature’s whipping rage nor fistfuls of burning sage could tear it.
As my pulse weakened, my body faded into the misty blue.
He decided to redesign my frigid vessel into something new.
Into the wild forest, he hunted for a creature to carry on my essence.
Like Dr. Frankenstein, he wanted me to come alive in his presence.
He ripped up the squeaky floorboards, where he hid my haunting heart.
Sewing me into a wolf’s hollowed body, a taxidermist of the dark arts.
Howling and howling at the moon, I dreamed someday I’d rest free.
My dearest Poe refused letting me go, his loving ghost Annabel Lee.
Amy is an artist pursing her MFA at Naropa Univeristy. She is founder of Wisdom Body Collective and the Ekphrasis Salon. He work explores the body, myth, and human origins. http://blondewanderlust.com
Melissa Gill is a writer born and raised in Las Vegas, NV. Her poetry has appeared in Coffin Bell Journal, Raven Review and elsewhere. Her first fiction piece is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine. When she’s not writing, she enjoys watching indie horror films, thrifting, and hiking.
Button Eye Review 
The words weave into spectacular pieces of art that I wish I could buy and frame on my walls. Beautiful and haunting. This is definitely a master of her craft in her element.
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