Sylvia Plath- Poppies in July

• I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
• Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red like the skin of a mouth.
• A mouth just bloodied. Little bloody skirts!
• Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules.
• If I could bleed. or sleep! If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
• But colourless. Colourless.