giselle's garden

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Like eating grapes low under the vines,
Somewhere along, straw hats and rough hands,
That came behind,
Closing around her eyes.
She was pearl faced, like some porcelain sphere,
Or the cherry mouth,
Red like when he bite her lower lip.
Really, she was taught nothing
Grew up frail, and needing,
Then stuck a spoonful of pills on her tongue,
Crying it was like some sweets.
Smiled little dimples as she wearied,
And dreamt cross Charon's river,
Confused and bare feet she stood at the edge,
Until he came to scope her up
And fled to some wild orchard.
Seemed as if there was never a door,
Nor exit.
Here, he captured her with his gaze,
That gave her the virgin stir,
That infected her forever on.
Still a nude babe that sat under the shade,
Called out his name and wove through the leaves,
Echoed back…
Tear-rimmed smile,
Left somewhere below withering trees,
Shattered and gone,
Something lost, or stolen,
A re-occuring knowledge she knew too well,
Came back to take her hand.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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