Who are you today, my love,
The sylph who lured this sap to bed?
The grieving mother? Battered wife?
The wanton whore who gave me head?
The gilded lily puppet mistress
Making me dance to your tune?
Beneath a raging Reigate Moon?
And when the poison that you dripped
Into my ears had ceased to work,
And when my heartstrings you had ripped,
And trashed me like some half-wit jerk
Did you think you could walk away
And leave me bleeding on the floor?
For now ítis Resurrection Day,
And Iím under your spell no more.
April 4, 2010
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