October 10, 2009
You, hugging your secret with anaconda love
to your chest. You smiled at the sun in vain glory,
irrepressible lemon drop of innocence that

You were. A smile, How quaint! How irretrievable!
Dancing upon razored moondust, the pink of your
satin cheeks, your oh so honeyed rosebud lips, your

Ephemeral golden locks: ‘til it was taken,
the bruised emptiness replacing it as you fled
to your lonely place, debased, disillusioned Nymph.

If this be so, then let not the foul churlish clouds
and distemperate skies appease you with their
sticky plum kisses. It is not they who so

Innocently betrayed you. No! it was the
Moon, fair and chaste in her righteous slanders who did
besmirch your alabaster skin with the plush slurpy

Sounds of ripping flesh. She then withdrew, her face slimed,
and bespattered crimson, her heart frigid. Your sweet
young heart fluttered with butterfly palpitations

As the freshly turned earth subsumed you in its depths.
A blank field will sprout cherished, cheerful sunny corn.
O Pilgrim, will you ever learn to trust again?

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