Sylvia
You 're the very genius of fragile rope-dancers.
Your gifts were poison candies. You bit my bites of anger.
Feeding your own rage.
You were such a deep, heart craving being.
Owned, teared apart by your own spleen.
You�re the very masterpiece entrapped by your own trick.
Your force is boiling fuel to me. Your tears made me sick.
Your energy is a mass destruction weapon.
You cast it as stars dust. It sneaked out on me,
huge and fast.
You never hit the road on February 11.
You hide. Somewhere.
You never left us.
My little poetry princess.