The Crucial Fiction

You were given to me,
a plaything.
Joy untold, wafted in,
with you.
Pine scented limbs of yours,
I breathed in,
life.

Always knowing
this is not real,
watching,
biding my time.

But the gods, they play me,
the games change,
rules upturned,
new laws deployed to thwart me.
I must now forfeit
every small victory
of waning smiles.

This journey will not end
on the turning of the tide
nor will I even win
a smallest chance; a strike.

They stacked the odds
and set me up
to be crucified.
And I'm told :
you must do it
with a smile.

A Nonsensical Rhyme

A woman asking for her right

not that which belongs to anyone else,

'But is rightfully mine'

She isn't to be trusted, 

and you know why?

She demands to be heard,

given what's rightfully hers?

Such audacity, 

what a perverse time,

why must we listen to her whine:

The odd case of disgruntled wife

Roots

My heart sings,
my senses go numb
when you say my name:
Just a flick of your tongue,
I could fly on the wings of my desire
If only I hadn't grown roots in the sand