The Park at Midnight, a poem by Sneha Sundaram

Leaves of darkness
Leaves of noir
Gristly palimpsest
With blood stroked lines.

The backgrounds a mystery
With deep set eyes
Howling wind storms by.

An eerie blood trail
The ghost of a jaw
Mirrored tempest
In regal blue dye.

Her thin cinched waist,
Pinched tightly through
Guillotines corset
Broke a rib or two.

He drew her in
With love in lieu
Of tempered silence,
In immortality, bid adieu.

The leaves in the foreground
Must cover her still
Red dots the yellow
And maroon marks the till.

What a storm he captured
Time standing still
The royal blue princess
Disintegrating in the leafy wind.

He used his own blood
And some of hers too
Gradients for autumn’s erasure
Red leaves fit the bill.

Is it the park at midnight?
Or her resting place
You see the leaves drawn
But I see her face.