They are chains, those bonds that hold us in place.
Around my wrists, women coil fingers
Like claws around my heart; their frames of face
Seen dark, subject to memory, linger.
The Golden One, her smile saintly, dawn;
Hair like the rising sun in blackest night.
To her very breath ever faintly drawn,
Absolute perfection – then wrought in spite,
A figure: viper, no – a black widow
Beautiful and silent; poison hidden.
Her aim control, the keeper of Limbo.
Still those same fingers coiling, ‘round the hide
Of my heart. Those same thin fingers that stole
My golden girl -- strangled away her soul.