there was
a spiral staircase
in the middle
of the castle
made out of
ivory bones
carved by careful hands
to look
like faery wings
that stretch
on and on
into the aether
all the way
to a locked door
without a key
that hides away
the secrets
of another
broken heart

she played
with ribbons
that danced
like dragons
in the breeze
while humming
a sweetly nonsensical
song
about
the petals of flowers
that litter
the wooded lane
deep
into the forest
of lost souls

the heart
of the princess
was lost
in the hanging branches
of the willow tree
left to feed
the ever hungry
roots of salvation
drawn
onto the flesh
of her childhood bear
with button eyes
and a key
where it’s heart
should have been