Time dawns upon her,

kissing her neck-

fruit of life,

tart sweetness.

Blame flicks a forked tongue

against her ankles.

Gasping in fear,

she sacrifices to cultivate

a hidden orchard.

The Crucible

The wind changes,

clipping her braid.

No longer safe,

blinded by a mask,

deaf to the rush of air,

she chokes on a

story untold.

Freudian Sip

She tells no one of her dream.

Not the one of career or marriage,

but the other one;

the dream that lays her down

somewhere safe in the

blue abyss.

Whatever joy she wraps herself around

shall never be removed.

The Commute

She realizes the patterns

within and without.

Burning eyes unblinking,

constant pressure and speed,

she moves through her own dimension,

down the division of stories,

constantly closer to destiny.

Violin Suite

Dark wood tastes of rich laughter.

Horse hair holds the harmony

of a coarse smile.

Melody vibrates the forest-

her hidden refuge where

she flirts with birds.

Sunshine highlights her

soul's splendor art of being.

Career Path

Shoving through cultural branches,

Surrounding facades blister her feat.

Golden rays of strength

magnify her will.

She lingers in confusion,

then chances a step.

Aspiring

She rises through her past,

struggling to climb the present,

holding onto hopes of a future.

Digging her heels into a

rocky society,

she clings,

harder.

She does not let go.

Footprints

Her face becomes a shadow,

her eyes- unsheathed swords.

Physical fascination glides through

arched frames of lust

Careful.

Terror invokes sharp response.

Window Dressing

Retreating inside herself,

she connects the world at

odd angles:

intricate details properly placed,

generations symmetrically suspended.

Anchored by the eyes that see her,

she disappears in a blur of tears.

Concave Collision

Trapped behind the Hollywood lights

of her own mind,

she rarely escapes the

cracked image buried

within her heart.

Shards of glass

deeply pierce her lungs,

cutting her daily bread.

Mad Housewife

Feeding hungry cubs,

protecting her marriage from

the prowess,

she simply sighs,

glances at her pathetic

paycheck,

and dips her hand into

the grimy mess du jour.

Wholley Earth

Gentle spirits project the illusion

of smooth circles.

No sharp edges or ripped stitches

line her palms.

Shoulders bowed with many lives,

she wraps warm arms around you.

Remember, she whispers,

you are loved.

Ambidextrous

Which way should she walk

to bump into a light?

Life creeps through a desolate cave-

the tunnel where she feels sunk.

She tires of running into her shadow,

a musty mirror of denial, or perhaps, deprivation.

Which way should she walk

to bump into herself?

Precocious

Wishing on a paradise,

she blows out the candles.

Something new fills her face.

The man outside her window

whispers softly, moon puddle in

her gray hair.

Has another year passed? No, she laughs.

Cheers to the naked morning.

Planned Pare