the shrouded mysterious mistress
most – hauntingly
mocking what could have been
She works cunningly, swiftly,
spinning the tale of a lost cause as her victims
drowsily wake up within her
What is the way out?
Was there a way in?
The details are so hard to remember
for she convincingly clouds her
muted victims, leaving them with their own sad
circles of thought, unbroken by
true spoken communication.
She is beautiful, no doubt –
and much to be respected –
but there are those times,
my friend, where I fear her bite may be
For even a whisper becomes
much too laborious
of a sound