lady Lazarus with onyx eyes.

in mornings covered in teal
to hide veins of gold
and the steam of many evenings
made warm by coffee
and words birthed by a frenzied, loving history,
it appears.

it bows its head
this free-form jazz
that gets sung in the spirit
of a certain lady Lazarus
with red hair
giving tyranny the blues

this feeling
does not evaporate
like dew over grass at high noon
her goddess stokes fire with one arm
and she weaves freedom with the other
over bones knit anew after pain & anguish

this warmth
bears a name that rolls smooth
like quiet winds on the Nile
or coot cats down Edgecombe
and finds sparks behind orange eyes
magnified by her truth

such warmth with an edge
is akin to the feel of the sun
on a mind kept dark and imprisoned
yes that is her power
it beckons to you
and asks you to rebel because it’s righteous

she
gives you this warmth
that makes you want to be
her concubine of clarity
to toss off inhibitions to the wind
so you can rise

lady Lazarus with onyx eyes
maybe you feel the fire
showing you
how freedom burns clear.

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