Spring reminds her of you.
The spirit of initiation.
Your nails, uncut, shrill, across the canvas.
She dreams of you, in anticipation.
The way you will never be.
You smell of decay.
Her senses not in their right mind.
You do that well.
You dance a dance that beguiles.
She is losing it all.
She sweats and feels alive, exhilarated.
Waiting for you on public steps.
Watching her shoes.
How her fingers paint your caress.
You make her feel unforgettable to herself.
She is patient with you.
You, grasping anonymous hands in your parade of women.
Your lips open to misplace her name.
She never learns that beginnings with you start with an end.
She dresses you in her fantasies.
You are not even there.
You slam the door in her face and she snaps out of it.
“Circe the Temptress” by Charles Hermans (1839-1924)