all roses dozing gently.
Garments tousled, hair undone,
Eurasian moon in-between velvet curtains hiding worlds.
This dark princess had seen unseen
all they could imagine
frail womanhood would not stand.
Brute force and ignorance
became simple sharp tools,
for her to wield uncaringly.
Heartless homicidal hatred;
another nicety dispensed with.
She had stood near the throne
and smiled as the Icon sat in judgement;
sending mere innocence to the ordeal,
while her hallowed moon hung coloured scarlet.
Now her dreams float far away
like fragrant fumes from palace gardens.
Attentive eunuch and heroic handmaiden
stand in awe and trepidation,
as Desdemona dreams of sunshine,
specks of golden love-lights, once remembered,
once gathered in Arcadian fields of Summer
by her happier former self and sisters.
Rain, once again, seemed a recent invention.
Tears, warm and salty to the touch were ever more familiar.
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