Altar of Papyrus

I stand on my back legs to the Altar of Papyrus, lift my chin to its sweet succulance that relieves me of hairballs with its spritzing essence on the singing ridge of my palate. I clack my teeth on its holy greens.

It sways and springs ever growing new shoots, tender and amber of Cattess Mror’s own eyes, each leaf the perfect iris by day, the cross section of its tube like her own foot pad, stem graceful and held up as pure alert happiness.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: