Step softly over this silken knot;
Ease into this particular caress..
I have a story
Written slowly on cloth of gold..
The wrappings shimmer sightlessly
Around the nearest ornamental Diary.
And then, we wonder as we read
Who earns such gifts as nonchalonce..?
For effort lost we all expire
Into an alien heat
To find someone especially sacred.
Ending in historic settlement
Legitimized or notarized
As each becomes unrecognizable
With no one especially primal
In an overlong embrace...
But sacrificial relatives
Abound in every Storybook;
And your turn,
My cold young lover
Is waiting to be taken...
Copyright © elizabeth landon-lane