From journeyman to master in his craft,
His artful words subsume me with their touch,
Entwining limbs and corps with phantom bonds,
Unsheathing new the blade sharpened with lust.
Can yet I remain separate and whole
Should he reach out and forage me for food
To nourish his heart rent from carnal woe
And supply hollow coffers with fresh tools?
With flaming torch bled of my passion bold,
Arraigning me thus guilty in desire,
He forges restraints I content embrace
As kidskin gloves caress and I expire.
For from his hand that I will never feel
My cheek reclines against the lyric steel.
Across her cheeks time sketches valleys deep.
While she sheds crimson mantles lose from wear.
Off crowded saplings suddenly she snares
A silver-sheen’d adornment. Wrapped she creeps
In silence heeding sister wolves who guide
And guard her – howling warnings in the woods.
Her unseen foe attacks, drawing her blood;
The drops baptize her as death’s noble bride.
Look now her hair garlanded in wreaths of snow
Fans out sailing her ‘cross the River Styx.
With feather’d sandals she treads hellhound’s trail
To reach the River Lethe. All she knows
Is soon forgotten, drunk in her eclipse.
Fate pens her renaissance, a virgin tale.