Colleen S. Harris
Violet Petals

The violet petals are twelve shades shy of twilight.
I lick them hoping for grape-flavored sugar,
find nothing but purple pulped on my tongue.
The violet petals are the velvet of my mother’s best dress,
dark like shadows beneath Catholic pews.
They are royalty, dressing us up for confession
then falling asleep by the cuckolded clover.

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