Give me the mirror that all wo/men dream at.

Each touch a ghostly dance led by lies.

Enchanted lures that brighten days they work at.

Implied by sprites in jeweled fairy skies.

Waiting are witches or the half bitten apple.

Even Snow White's teeth can't mark as her own.

Beware this Medusa Perseus' battle.

For She bore the horse who guards Poseidon's poems.

This soughing fancy that was once forbidden

To folk whose longings might fit larger zones,

And every doubt a god could spare ghostwritten;

Yet life is drenched in one's own poisoned tones.

An innocent fit till one is cast aside

To reflect in mirrors crack'ed from side to side.

Rp Verlaine

Marie Fitzpatrick

Facebook, March 2015

The Linnets Wings