yellow bruise – a peach –
upon my cheek; a love bite?
a tender nibbling by pearly white
wolf canines as littlegirl hands
splayed adoringly across the ridges
of my pale back. a hate slap?
a condemnation of too many
kisses stolen from other LoverGirls
behind the Renaissance barn
and one too many stolen fondles
under a thin chemise. accidental punch?
so many nights spent wrestling,
Eudora, giggles under pink
bedsheets where limbs collide and
merge into one. confessional brand?
where "i love you" wasn't
enough to save her soul and she
left you for a rutting satyr.
princess virgins are overrated.
a/n: the result of reading historical romance novels for 6 hours straight... and thinking about her all the while.