she'd tasted that opulence twice:
once harmlessly naïve,
every shard of saccharin
deluging and
diluting--
swelled with hedonistic
banter, she mindlessly
slipped through
the confines of
a dollop of cream
and a ritual.
next in a way
morbidly more satisfying
than the last--
she dove into the maelstrom
head first, an unprecedented
facility concaving with
unpolished memories,
the foreign dessert
transcending into
a familiar consent.
she found that luxuries became sweeter
when she wrote her own requiem.
