True love exists perhaps as an apparition, A mirage clothed in exquisite linen, Perfumed like the maiden whose journey to the conjugal kingdom barely took it's first bite She breaths alluring smiles Eyes, blinking with perfection She does no wrong. Until the first stab comes like an August visitor Perhaps in the woods When his voice will join solidarity with echo's chilly hands rising like tempo, climbing the joyful screaming steps for freedom Yet again the stiletto's eager dentition Shall explore his rind again and again The oozing blood shall protest peacefully While she stares dead into his eyes presenting her ever sweet smiles