Not purple prose,
but purple poetry leads you to me.
Nights of violet rapture swoon
to echos of my sapphic sisters-
their hymns sung like lullabies
on beaches of honey and diamonds.
At sundown, lilac waves crash
to reveal white bridal veils.
An amethyst heart shares the same
regal hue of bliss.
Living for pleasure is the closest
any will come to immortality.
And this rich shade-
the combination of blood and ocean-
finds such expression
in the irises you pick.
Our baths christened
by those dreamy petals,
as a sparrow begs us to breathe in
the mauve stars of twilight.
About the Creator
Carmen Cornue
Carmen Cornue's writing has appeared in numerous publications including Southword and the Atlanta Review. She co-founded the literary collective Spleen in 2015 to create and champion radical writing by queer women.
carmencornue.com
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Paris, 2101
Lizzie A4 couldn’t help but gawk at the giant grey building from the banks of the Seine. It had ornate multi-color glass windows like a kaleidoscope and strange stone creatures on the roof. She used her ocular implant to look up its history while mumbling to herself, “what strange architecture... what could it have possibly been used for?” The implant traced the outline of the building in neon blue lines like a blueprint before declaring that it was known as “Notre Dame de Paris”. She quickly scanned through the corresponding articles, learning about the typical features of gothic cathedrals, Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo and the great fire of 2019, all the while marveling at how much the building had endured. It emanated a kind of strange beauty that felt otherworldly to her, she had a similar feeling when she stumbled upon the Great Pyramids six months ago. In both places she was dumbstruck by an overwhelming sense of awe, unable to comprehend what humans were capable of so long ago.
By Carmen Cornue3 years ago in Fiction
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