Copper Pots No Yolks

an arrow at the back of her throat. changes direction. she isn't moved.

her fingers are tissue paper. as she tries to feel.

the charmless hero waddles beneath his cape. while the girl still waits to be rescued.

a choice of poisons. each one equally as fatal. one sour. one sweet. ultimately. the bitter wins her over.

her legs tremble. as she climbs the steep stairways. each floor a fleeting destination. promiscuous gods tracing the outlines of their angels on onion skin paper.

her eyes. like pebbles. thrown away on wishing wells.