Languish
In languish sleep, so went her fate
through loveless marriage, mired in hate.
Soft-spoken words that now chastise
his world, of stranger’s scents and spies;
gold, traded for some silverplate.
Just once forbidden fruit she ate
her endless strangled passions sate
she made this bed on which she lies
in languish sleep.
Suspicions she dared not set straight
this is a world she did create;
where every little word implies;
one now where she averts her eyes
and lives where love and guilt conflate
in languish sleep.
Copyright © Terry Miller | Year Posted 2023
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