"Too true, too true," she whispers in her cold way, her boiling old way, her true-blue and sold way. "Too true..." And I, I am like a quivering daisy chain, full of green and yellow anticipation. I strew, or no, link my self's mind together; Dixie Blues are clinking on an old player piano. Seeing her slow eyes again, I rinse myself with spices-- for the blood-boil-- and put this old scrumptious dalliance on the slow burner, thick potatoes and carrots swirling in the brew. "But this between us will lead us only to more and deeper dripping poison and despair." "Too true, too true," she whispers. I hold up my arms to be wrapped in snakes, let her pinion me to the cold marble, to pay penance to the dying gods for my treachery. As she holds the cup to keep the venom from dripping onto my face, all that remains is my stickysweet voice-- tricked out in diamond particolor-- words and words spilling out over my silent body: "Listen to me "hear and understand: "these cold words of mine "that will glitter and sparkle off the end of my tongue "are all that I can give to you. "When my foes unchain the wolf, the dragon, the hungry maid-- "the children of my soul's revenge-- "then shall I arise in fury and in strength to dwell within myself. "But they haven't yet let loose--have patience! "I keep waiting and sighing and spying and clicking and spinning and wilting and weeping: "now there is nothing but my silence, "my wicked silence that hurts you so..." Too true, too true and her eyes are leaking tears. Her fingers burn my body which shivers at the cold; caught between fire and ice I feel pity only for myself. "Wicked? No not wicked, that goes too far, too "too far. Far beyond the reasonable, far beyond intuition and of grief. "Far beyond the boiling hams and bouncing tree fairies." I can feel these words splintering, melting, failing: meaning vanishing into shadow, nonsense and fear; they coil more tightly about me but she hums in a pleasing way--she didn't notice!-- and thrusts her tight bright lips against my face. "Too true, too true." "Replace wicked with frightened and old. Or tricky: "that's the silence you have from me. "I have. Me. A frightened old silence to give. "A tricky frightened silence to give you. "It's time you listened and heard my silence truly, "truly, for what it is." She seems to be hearing me; her tongue is dripping slow circles of fire along my chest. She stops. Looks long into my eyes: "Too true, too true," and cuts my tongue between her teeth. "Ahh. You've lived too long in a short space, "I think the ends of you want to outgrow our short space of time, "but they shrivel instead. It's time you... "it's really time you... "it's got to be time you... "it's not too late you... "Ahhh... it's past time you danced your new self far far away "so that your dear ones, your frizzled and delightful "loves may hold you close once more, "spiral you around with glee, laughing in the sun." "Too true, too true," she bares her teeth. I feel this body-not-mine thrumming from head to foot as her breath rushes slowly in my ear and she finds the all-center of my desire. Sharp pain lances through my wrist, up my thin and withered arm unto the throbbing hollow in my chest. My flesh gasps at the emptiness of it. "Look... ahhh... "You gaze too long into my tiring, soul-gutting "mind-splintering gulf. Please. "No. Please. No. Stop. "This is too... I can't... I didn't think... No... <crack> I am gone. She is gone. Silence. Venom splashes onto my face. The snakes wrap tighter about my throbbing arms.