MIRRORS

True love is but an apparition,
A mirage clothed in exquisite linen,
Perfumed like the maiden
whose journey to the conjugal kingdom
barely took it's first bite
She breaths alluring smiles
Eyes, blinking with perfection
She does no wrong.
Until the first stab comes like an August visitor
Perhaps in the woods
When his voice will join solidarity with echo's chilly hands rising like tempo,
climbing the joyful screaming steps for freedom
Yet again the stiletto's eager dentition
Shall explore his rind again and again
The oozing blood shall protest peacefully
While she stares dead into his eyes
presenting her ever sweet smiles