One glance and the frozen case of my poise patters
to the floor like shattered eggshells.
It doesn’t take a kiss to give me my fairytale transformation:
Frog to fanciful female.
Like a frosted fiction cloak woven in decaying darkness,
my dull aura suddenly blazes crimson red.
I cannot help but glow.
Not a muttered word stored,
trembling hot, in the footlocker of my mind.
Nor a panic desperate name whispered
in the dead of night.
Instead a lubricious crown placed on a golden head.
Red lips. Hacksaw serrated stare.
Nails screeching across my eager welcome smile.
My crystal wish-granted in pieces.
Little match girl.
