Sometimes i stain her fingers black,
leaving smudges on clean paper as she drifts from dream to dream.

i (Soul)  am resistant
to false perfume and adult schemes.

It is a wonder that i ever showed this sticky face to a monster-eyed crowd,
Though hidden inside the hem of this woman with thin arms and layers of shroud.

Popsicle cherry glazes my ear to ear grin,  
i (Soul)  and my purpose nearly lost in her gin.

i (Soul)  a small hero still wet in the head,
working for magic while she steals the bread.


S.L. Weisend ~ 2014