by Oliviu Crâznic
Her eyes of starlight honey, her hair the golden wine,
I was to paint her portrait, and then we were to dine;
Her body dressed in lilies, all blossomed on her bloom,
I said the words, I touched her – the White Bride left the room.
I tried to cope with passion, when she returned for me;
Naked under the roses – I painteth on my knee…
Yet long before her blonde curls appeared in the frame,
I tried to kiss my loved one – assuming all the blame.
Proudly arose the Red Bride, lightning seraphic eyes!…
I read in her the goddess, whilst she said goodbye!…
My arrogance had cast her, my ire drives me blind,
Alloying blood with metals, I paint her in my mind.
Watching the last leaf falling, now someone’s at the door;
Her nightgown of black tulips, that’s everything she wore.
Frozen is the fay’s hair, dead cold her lips will be…
I let her have the canvas – the Black Bride’s painting me.