Mother used to tell me about the boys
Whose voices were sweet like
Sun-soaked clovers in summertime.
“Beware of these boys and their little white lies,”
She’d say.
“Their love will only last a spring.”
My mother is not to be disobeyed,
Her anger is the heart of a flame and
My skin bears the proof of her love.
“Beware of these boys, my dear daughter,”
She’d say.
“You are not a flower to be picked and thrown away.”
But mother didn’t tell me what to do
When a prince with eyes like onyx
Framed in amber climbed to my room.
Like pools of gold, his eyes shone bright
And coaxed me to the window’s edge.
What does my mother know of love?
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,”
He said.
“I was promised a princess.”
My mother knows nothing of love.
His words were sweeter than Eden’s apple
And I savored each sinful bite.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let me into your bed,”
He said.
“And promise you won’t tell.”
If I am to burn, it is because of his love,
And when he scars my neck with his kiss,
I bloom with the promise of happy ends.
Profound Lettuce 