Stone Cold

Roberta Moore, guest contributor

Stone Cold


Stone… Cold…

As I’m walking up to it

Its beauty glitters through the bushes when I peek

Its lovely figure, leaks through the separation of the leaves

But as I get closer

Its beastly modesty  makes the biggest appearance before my eyes

Its horrific shape openly makes through everything in front

For seeing something beautiful

Can be something repulsive

As I go to touch it

I figure it’s soft



But when I do

Its rough



Stone… Cold…