Friday, September 11, 2015


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
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