The Lost Retainer

To think that some prince might kiss her! Hold her
Gently, run his tongue along her teeth; but
No sooner would he fall, eyes wide, pleading
As blood slipped between his shaking fingers.

And she would weep bodily as he curled
Into the soil, grimacing, her sharp
Incisors gleaming with the wink of a
Needlepoint. Even her dreams were tainted.

And no one would come near her, fearing
That taunt prick, a drop of blood, then deep sleep,
For not everyone has a prince to wake
Them. So they would each walk alone, squeezing

Their soft, plump fingers under their armpits,
Still hoping that they could be beautiful.