Virgin Dawn Scorched

Twigs sweep frosted lips
Dew licks naïve hips
Winter's icy breath solidifies
The fire, silencing the choir
Of her passion.

She has never been this deep into the woods,
Where even carnations wear black hoods.

Robins surround a fissure
Lava drips from their feathers onto leather
Soil breaking, waiting for day to thaw
The sun to exile the vulture
Holding the gun.