I remember her then:
Pale skin and rouged lips,
Playful whim and pendulous hips.
Oh yes, I remember this.
The fairest of them all,
Midnight-maned with eyes that wish,
that she were born under the rule
of a queen and not a witch.
Who chose this?
It was I who tried assist,
and when the thorn of roses missed,
I knew the witch could not resist.
Sickened magic, poisoned apples,
Made to seem a tasty dish
Made their way onto the table
of my true love's wedding gifts.
Later, in the darkness,
hiding true love's wedding bliss,
I was courted with foreboding
As if this, our only tryst,
would be soiled by the treason
that this hateful witch insists.
I lay there in the dark,
my lover's breath, a ghostly wisp.