~ .. and Strangers Parted ~

The tightrope she tip-toed between a lovers heaven and fathers hell. ----------------------------------------------------- Would he stand in a streetlight spotlight bathed in neon pollen, while she crept from her prison hoping those old hinges would not scream her passing. High-heeled hobbling along a road with many dangerous curves, her only protection a thin coating of trust and a glow of expectation. What girl is not a woman in innocent shroud, peeping through crochet with naïve eyes and raw illusions, while wide-boys wait for the song of a maidens hym(e)n, knowing love bite crimes fade in dawn chorus, and her pillow is all that will share her tears, her sheets soiled with little-girl-lost smears.