Draped over your braided thoughts
there lies lace and little beauties
It is almost a sort of glaring cruelty
that you clasp it, white knuckled and selfish
wholly absent from this hollow place

Underneath rests sweet innocence, a harbinger of angels,
souls and quiet romanticism
Eyes closed to that flickering flame which gasps, dying so steadily at your suspended little toes
You are still, frozen
other than those fluttering eyelashes and hungry eyes that look up at those beautiful and wicked angels which lilt only for you