Bloody tears sauntered out my almond doors,
down the labyrinthine roads often taken,
meandering on a muggy stream to nowhere,
after a coltish Puck shattered my glass screens,
with His trigger-happy forked trident,
jolting my sense-depths in ripples,
and exposed the cloak ’round my heart.

“Awake,” he jested, “be mine sport,
and look through mine eyen,
re-enter the world of trifles,
dalliances, tomfoolery and play,
where princely rovers romp amidst stained silk,
donning magnificent masks of red roses,
casting ornate spells with their gospel.”

My tear-stained heart recused herself
from this beguiling invitation,
to constant-feast on faith and hope
on the shady trail to her lost half,
a vestige nomad in her mind-camera,
whose hands made music with her strings,
and equipped a wanton soul with wings.

“Thou beest a fool,” he chided, “Milady,
Nightly in these tryst-worn woods,
comely earthlings as thyself, springstepped
in hot-bellied fervour for the noble prince,
are disgraced in the daybreak court of Helios,
and rediscover thyselves hocks of a wily rake,
whose pledges are sixpence to thine pound.”

As Jove struck his gracious shears at my spellbound eyes,
crashing pieces of eye-glass felled my heartstrings,
rupturing the life stream between me and the other,
with balmy wine gushing out freshly made ravines,
jamming dense my cavernous wounds with winter,
once I awoke to the truth of the practised gambit,
I plummeted the depths of my lover’s menagerie.