If you must wear chains,
my dear,
about your neck,
your wrists,
let them be of spring Andromeda —
light, lipped, sweetly fragrant,
& tinkling with wind’s caress.
— C.Birde, 3/25
Chains — A Poem
Enticed — An Image
Desired or
not —
sheen and color
call attention,
while thorns
discourage
t
o
u
c
h
.
— C.Birde, 11/18