Ariadne

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