The heart learns to be silent
And watches as the world is bundled and trussed
Learns to watch as time slows
And revolves around the naming of the obvious




I was a bit disappointed that the mare did not meet an untimely end.

Best not to hope for too much. She has pain enough to fill my coffers for a thousand years.

She wants it so much. Shall I slip, let it slide from my grasp like some unwanted thing. It is a game after all, ma belle. "Ma belle"... sentimental? Incidental.

In the last instant I do not mock or scorn. The touch of her flesh against mine moves me as Venus never will. An instant etching. So it was written as if for this moment.

Her head turns as my tear falls.

What more worthy place exists?