She wakes at dawn,
her golden fingers silently sliding
across his cold, white skin.
Peeling back his sheets,
softening his shadows
with the light and delight of her opening eyes,
she caresses him without a touch,
so as not to disturb him, so as not to waken him,
only to warm him, to melt him, to murder him.
He shivers and shrinks under her gentle power
unable to resist,
withdrawing unconsciously into himself,
without any feeling,
with no consummation.
Rather, she consumes him
completely, for breakfast.
With a satisfied smile on her moistened lips,
she removes all evidence of his being.
He who came and conquered so suddenly, so confidently, so foolishly
is removed so delicately, so clinically, so easily.
And now she dances with joy and victory,
scattering her life and light
over his graveyard,
reclaiming her playground,
redeeming her garden,
With the glorious colours of spring.