She’s bled them all:

The never-wake-up venom
The live-happily-ever-after opiate
The locked-in-a-tower-until-you-gather-it-all-up riddle

There are dungeons
Toads turning into princes
Eyes plucked by vultures

And my favourite:
The forever-alone-because-you’re-ugly-and-old

The sterilised
The insane.

And yet Her palm pulses
Gathering dew

On blades of Grass
And open Beaks

Or lambs bleating as they suckle woollen teats...

Forgive the rhyme I am a Woman dancing
Salt bath, seabed.

Wave aft er wave

Ceaseless
Blameless
Belly rising.