Tired of frills, of girlish
Giggles and silly games
He sought a darker love
In the night forest
Twisted her a crown of
Branches and dead flowers
Begged her to find him worthy
To look at him and truly
See who he was, how grim
How serious, not a trace of
Frivolity, so she looked
She pulled him apart
Inch by painful inch then
Glued him back up with a
Sticky paste made from
Obsidian and pitch and blood
As he shivered, reborn, at
Her feet, she said, “I’ll pass”
| In addition to being an avid reader, Gerri Leen‘s passionate about horse racing, tea, and collecting encaustic art and raku pottery. She has stories and poems in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Nature, Strange Horizons, Dark Matter and others, and has a poetry collection coming out from Trouble Department. She’s a member of SFWA and HWA—see more at gerrileen.com. |  |