q is an a: keyboard mystakes [sic]

she was born in august
an empty month, summer fleeting with the
moon.

she thought blood was prettier splattered on the stained-
glass that was his church,

but her god never came to claim the surrender:
the white flag that no longer meant stringent tidings
but the spaces between broken virgin blotches of red.


the heat that slept sticky on the edges of skin
bent under the cold crisp scalpel wind,

she was born in august
at the juncture of indulgence
and the estranged.

i loved this poem, but the repetition of "she was born in august" didn't have much as effect as it was meant to have because he poem was so short. the images were beautiful, but i would've loved more. it also would've helped me understand it better. i didn't get the title, by the way.
on a much better note, this aboslutely BLEW ME AWAY:

the heat that slept sticky on the edges of skin
bent under the cold crisp scalpel wind,

she thought blood was prettier splattered on the stained-
glass that was his church,

so good job. =]

I liked it, it was really pretty. I would love to know the undercurrent of it-what it means to you.

Very good, except:

"the white flag that no longer meant stringent tidings" is basically a bit of nonsense.