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To Know Her Is To Love Her
Is she a helping hand or an iron fist? Am I helpless or helping myself to her attention by dressing as a damsel? She’s happiest on her high horse, and every conversation feels like an intervention, which is just as well, because I am well past “troubled”, and she so loves to “fix” me. I…
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Rainbows Have Nothing To Hide, but Poppies Do
My poppies are shy, this spring, under the dirt, determined to stay in bed as long as possible, like a troubled teen in that first summer after a heartbreak, they grip tight to the ground and growl, “Mother, I don’t like it out there.” I mean, who could blame them? I am thinking of joining…
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Gwrach y Rhibyn
She calls out his name, tender terror, soft and sweet. She wants to save him, her hand dangling from the dark, reaching into the realms that death doesn’t dare, an impossibly placed omen, owing nothing to anybody, but holding them by their collars, by their souls, with no gratitude, shielding their eyes from the certain…
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Back On The Boat
My mistress’ eyes are the only thing I see when I sleep.However hard I try to escape the bounds of boundless affection,all I do is dream of her glacial gaze,in the service of a temptress,reeling all day, long after I have awoken.It isn’t a bad life, to be in love. Last night, she told me…
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Sincerely, Jennifer x 