Drops of boiled beeswax
poured into the lap of eventide
fixed up the familiar face
Soul syphoned as tax
with lips forever widely untied
yet draped in smatters of lace
Bright acrylic lacs
whispering old words that formed and dyed
a novel paint palate case
from feeble watercolor tears cried
at night end's bitter disgrace
Broken into scraps
less than what it could and would provide
more than all it could erase
Locked behind bones wrapped in brocade
an indelicate escape plea
screaming inward for a reply.
This bustle will surely outgrow
the short lived modesty debut.
One could claim you're on a crusade
offending nobles in a spree
until it's protests can outcry,
overpower, your own deep woe -
setting you down, trapping anew.
Perhaps you'll set to work, or trade
Or marry yourself a marquis.
Resolve your fate with one more lie:
he undressed you patiently slow
then treats you as more than a screw
Porcelain filled with lavender tea
sits delicately on the table.
The old doily cloth matches your dress,
were both inherited from mother?
Remember how she would laugh so loud?
Flower teased by a small bumble bee,
please ignore it if you are able
it will only sting if under stress.
Remember that advice from brother?
Bees have the temper of a storm cloud.
"I'm glad that we still have each other"
Oh how I wish you'd say this aloud