for Anita Roy

At sixteen, Sleeping Beauty went to sleep. A forest grew around her castle.
Ten decades later a Handsome Prince hacked his way in, kissed
her awake. They married.
She was a hundred and sixteen. She learnt to sleep regular hours.
For a hundred years Sleeping Beauty had dreamt in solitude.

eas of gold line skies of silver she swims between their fragrant glow oilrigs stalk with ant–like strides the horizon’s curve in single file oyster castanets in the clouds rain pearls that laugh ho ho, he he ha ha as they break a Nereid bites pomegranates ruby juices run tiny hands that stroke her face calling stay here, stay she dives a Wishing Tree wafts upside down in the wind catching her twin whose eyes beam amethyst lights arms tangling roots crows cascading from her hair she glides a Simurgh grooms its plumes of fireflowers that leisurely bloom above nacre unicorns foam manes flowing gallop over ocean tides a space shuttle trails phosphorescing octopuses at splashdown while mermaids hum rainbow tunes spindles spin blood into laser thread beneath waves course rivers of glass she floats petals pealing from her wings Icarus turns her body’s swell to crystal beats his touch nectarine opalescent words couch her breasts in a thousand eyes ahead silence sings in velvet shades and starburst scents earth me come

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