• Drifting with a limpid sense of purpose,
    poised, like mountains,
    and high and proud like mystic ravens.
    Without much remorse -- she sighs.
    How mystifying her cries,
    you wonder how can someone that glorious --
    be so victorious?

    she sways with abrupt sanguinity,
    like mindless pharisees,
    or the petty sun.
    So she mingles there -- still smiling.
    Not withering as we hoped.

    We watch as she flounces,
    watch as she gleams.
    Her phosphoric personality -- so sickening.
    A simple taste of her sweetness would be priceless.

    Suppose revenge were the answer?
    Would it be as suckle as strawberried delicacies,
    or arid like raisins baking in the sun?

    Fancy revenge were sweet..
    maybe denial wouldn’t eat at our thoughts..
    maybe i’d be less tempted to..