Miranda

Here, drink this.

It won't do a damn thing.

In the morning,

Forget the sky.

She will shake the sun out of her hair,

No matter how much you chart houses, trines, oppositions,

At the start of the day--

Fever.

At the end of the day--

Fever.



Distraction means nothing.

Tease the boys until they jump through flaming hoops;

It's no use.

She knows your tarot.

She has your number.

She reads your palm and all the rest of your ready skin,

With her nails on your pulse point

And her tongue tracing your heart line,

Until you come back to your

Senses,

Back to your so-called

Right mind.



Stop wasting time.

The world will not end if you kiss her.

The world will not end if you go down the valley to find her heartbeat,

But it might

If you don't.

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picture from "Picnic At Hanging Rock"

poem written for magpie 27 (because Willow's picture had me thinking about hidden waterworks. *blush*)
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