Descending Vorontsov, Bednaya Liza’s
sashes flickered rubenescent hues
and imperial prose, as Karamzin spent his
nights defiling her heirs. They latched a
cast iron gate, one time in finality. Gallicized
hands wandered about her narrow impasses
of mother's well-rubbed oily balmed olive
skin, and depth-ripened pores. The torrents
of flesh bleeding succulent fashioning[s] of
lavender and white ginger fetishes. She met
railroad tied and driven relentless shoulders.
Youth and reasonings. God's secrets and
living pontifications - his reassurances.
Her deepening wellsprings. She expended
Slavonic churches over passioned droplets
without wavering flags. His stoic uninvolvement.
Ruptures. In the end insignias rule the world.
And, her heart reascended a frozen Vorontsov.
(Copyright © Donna L. Quesinberry-2008)
Reading of innocense's immunitive discourse in intrepidation and the iron gate.