her hazel eyes
beneath the mascara lies
a pool of brine
enough to pickle a memory
to dine on past reverie

Underneath
her golden locks
beneath the curls
lies a wily old fox
that hunts with a trotting gait
and dangles smiles as her bait

Underneath
her puffy blouse
is a woman that lives to grouse
about all she can't rearrange
and a life that sees little change

And still the lovers in the park
hold hands
and laugh among the daffodils who
light up their path
as the birds sing their lovers song
They catch each other’s eye
and smile, that lovers smile
walking among the great Oaks, Hazel
and Cherry blossom
teasing the senses  
of every lover’s breath
a gift from Mother Earth
And still the lovers in the park
hold hands

Skin peeled off of muscles,
the snapping and cracking of ones shell.
The splitting screams of the tortured
mimic the crackle of bones and
the grinding of eyes.