Tuesday, 10 April 2012


You're very cute, she says,
I'd like to lay you out.
I'll play the tune you toot, I say,
and give back all you shall.

I'm very dangerous, she says,
sapphire's my favourite colour.
And once you're burned and cherry-red
you'll never love another.

But I knew more than her, you see,
because my heart's a coal:
I played her games, and, jealously,
she set her sights on me whole.

I wouldn't mess with me, she says -
I'm the belle of the town.
And if you give me less, she pledged,
I'll have to shoot you down.

Some call me a deathly rose, she says,
my hair a silken black;
blacker than all those, she says,
who say their souls so lack.

But she was white and pure, I knew,
I knew that; take my shame.
And on her candle flame I blew:
she'll never be the same.

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