P O E T R Y
Adrita Zaima
A gentle kiss of moonlight,
A brief brush on the pink of my delicate skin.
Stimulation runs wild, exhilaration spreads through my veins;
And I realise that it’s finally that day of the year.
I open myself, one drowsy eye at a time;
My lush, yellow lashes flutter
Inside the cage of the satiny white of my oblong petals,
Framed by my long, carmine sepals.
I gently arch backwards on my host,
Embracing the body that has lent me a refuge
From the gloom of the forest floor this year;
And assume my stance — just like a ballerina.
The moon shines directly above my visage, and I shine too.
No, I radiate,
With the beauty of a lady in pure white silk,
Wrapped in the jet black veil of the night.
This is my night,
The one night of the year when I can emerge from my confines and rule.
My ethereal scent spreads through the forest,
Attracting all the flora and fauna to bask in my majestic but elusive glory.
I am the most vivacious creature in this fair of life,
For just this one night.
I want to feel and live and experience the strange beauty of this transient world,
For just this one night.
But just as I brace myself
To consummate my wants,
The first rays of the spring sun colour the horizon,
And I softly burn in their tender touch.
I wither and withdraw,
I retreat to stay behind my walls for the next twelve moons.
The forest is no longer mine,
For I am only the queen of the night.
Zaima is an anaerobically-respiring, bibliophilic bacterium who spends her free time weeping over bad author decisions in YA. Tell her shitty plots are okay at [email protected]