the crunch of glass beneath ire
the clutch of grace though tired
the crutch of hope uninspired
the crux of love since retired

her eyes carry the weight of longing concealed by the dusty spectre of time, her teeth gone to fang in which to tear the soft flesh of any foolish would be pursuer

long since given up on childish folly, her dreams packed into the trunk stored in the back of the attic of homespun daydream, a picket fence of buried happiness

sleep calls, the long rest of the exhausted and relinquished mindscape left to rot on the vine of summertime farewells left adrift on once placid glassy eyed whimsy

the crunch of glass beneath ire
the clutch of grace though tired
the crutch of hope uninspired
the crux of love since retired