even a great man will steal 
every last sugary pearldrop of your girlhood, 
the time you spent in the leisurely groves 
of your imagination. 

he will steal even you,
on the mornings you wake in pink puddles,
your forehead dewy from dreams,
shining like a moon-stained bone.

he will trash your garlands,
your colorful ribbons and paper dolls.
you’ll wake and wonder
where went all your hunches,

lost to the time on the carousel jaguar,
back when your fantasies were petaled and violent,
and your was body a dream come true.