Paper Unicorn

by on Feb 25, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

Unicorns endure only
the brief touch of a maiden, her pure palm
free of the snarl of man’s complications—
his tangled and blood-thick love.

Innocence is often folded paper-thin,
sun-warm, delicately alive
in the wild. Stark before the backdrop
of green, the unicorn’s breath
blesses the bark of the trees
and the purple-headed chives.
Night might whisper us a different story.

Paper-cut and restless, the unicorn
staggers from its hollow of heather,
cream-colored and ready
to be bad.

To smoke at the edges, ink the tips
of its paper paws. Search for the sun
in the maidenless dark: indigo,
thick with desire.

Laurel Dixon lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She won first place in The Carnegie Center’s LGBT Writing Contest for her story “How to Fall in Love with Straight Girls,” and her poetry has been published in Tobacco Magazine, Words Dance Magazine, Pollen, and The Legendary. She spends most of her time writing, gardening, and drinking too much coffee.

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