'To prick my finger upon the thimble of words'

Sleeping Beauty

And what is left of the romance,

once daze of passion has drawn

the longest arc of its ellipse?

Blood loss induced euphoria subsides;

the healing of sticky wounds

is battle cry covering your hands.

The blue antique lamp I loved so dearly

but lost myself in so as to

shatter its crystal ball globe

crack the future open

take the sharpest shard of glass

drag it vertically down my wrist

thinking only of the poetry knife.

To prick my finger upon the thimble of words

dripping the alphabet from my spirited bones.

Tumbling into waves iris and blue;

call me emotionally bruised;

peony pink heart pinched and

flinching at the thought of being touched;

Sleeping Beauty only to awaken

with true loves kiss;

wake me when the scars

turn to sun kissed bliss.