Once it came wearing red.
Incarnadine like freshly spilled heart-blood, still warm from the wound.
Most often it moved here and there in flowing cloth of silken coal.
In black cord, bitumen colored ribbons and knots.
Fragment 9
By Jay Lonnquist | Storytelling, in Paragraph Proportions | 4 Oct 2020
Jay Lonnquist
Poet / Designer / Developer / Coder
Storytelling, in Paragraph Proportions
A dark, fantastical tale that is intended to unfold a paragraph, or thereabouts, at a time.
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