The scent of roses
rise up in swirls
Languid the breasts
rest on delicious silk
Candles melt wet
warm prolepsis
Old fashioned
cheeses, honey
French on the box
as the twilight
dreams
of a game, an
exciting game to play
The wind's hissing:
It's missing the
king
about to burst in
tears
sits the queen in
her checked wait
no check mate
The fire still burns
the silk still
kisses the light fur
Why mon amour?
The bubbly champagne
shushing on quiet flute
heel on one foot
Thyme
It can't be true
The French must
play:
ne me quite pas
Despised the sword
lays
and the thread is
tangling hues
all shades of a new
blue
In the arrival end
of the labyrinth
the monster starve
and instead of dying
heroic death
she is reborn
as a new sphinx
