The Virgin, the Villian and the Black Dog

When first freed from mother's skirt, still arrayed in white, dew kissed, peach sweet, blush cored, I dove into love, Persephone pierced; where ox-eyed daisies grew within a field abreast a Roman ... in daylight. Dry merlot overcast the blooded spot on site where passion flowered upon the box stitched blue quilt Grandmother with constancy had imbued. Yet, youth was not enough to make the man contrite. An omen ran through red bee balm, a hound of black long-limbed, loosed to pursue the brazen few who dared to lay unabashed in sunlight, the farmer stared back from the porch; he saw them run, saw yarrow in her hair. Ill fated yes, but first love is honeyed and that is a fact; nothing's sweeter than a maid undressed in open air.