~ .. 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.
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