She folds her gown of a thousand dreams
into a trunk.
Throws out the key.
Silence coats her with its quiet descent.
She recites his promises,
made then broken,
to that place in the wall,
the hole that yawns wider each night
into never-never land.
She's not Cinderella or Rapunzel
or a lost Sleeping Beauty waiting
yet to be claimed by some drop-dead handsome
Prince Charming, so when the Beast
walks through the hole,
she doesn't struggle.
She's just grateful to lie back
and let him take her.
Art: Night by Edward Hughes
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