Henna painted on the back of my hand
brings with it a sulphar orange of the momentary grand
brisstles against my feministic taking a stand
and lifts my spirit to where ochre washes away the bland
Henna paint brush, instrument of delight
creates a soulful memory that in physical world will not last
creates a euphoria moment that blesses me
with beauty that lies in the temporary forgotten never again to see
Henna female bluring image in lines
coupled with swirls and circles and interconnected promising finds
coupled with where my female soul lose itself in no compare
when living in the inkpot of the ancient is the best of this life's fair
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