Today’s prompt was to write a poem in the form of terza rima.
Last on the tree, a bloodied peach
with the fur slick and matted
the droplets beading, each to each.
An earring beneath the hair, plaited,
binding up the planets,
the light through a barn house, slatted
with planks and beams of granite.
Scarlet grooves signpost the craters,
the blood boils of pomegranates.
Blood moon ridicules creators.