Reading over and over
the story of how
you barely escaped
destruction,
with the barest cover,
however perfumed,
yet carelessly confident
of absolute seduction,
did you mature,
eventually,
to lay down your fear
and live (joyfully)?
Or did it bloom into
the full psychosis?
Every shadow elongated
by another foe?
I read the same thing.
And wondered harmlessly
how to joust, my queen,
the fading of beauty.
jam10
