perenniel, elle est

i. le 29 décembre
Regal and distinguished in faux fur,
she stands, with mona lisa on her lips;
lost in petite reveries. She trusts
the faerie powder falling from the sky
to bury her, and preserve precious snowflakes
that would melt under july's viceroy.

ii. le 14 avril
Flowers smile, Sophia stands solemn;
showers sweetly serenade her skin.
The house behind her is silent and bereft;
she doesn't mind. She never minds;
tears mesh perfectly with raindrops.

iii. le 9 août
Sweat, shining beads coalesce;
a coronet to replace love's lost diadem.
Sophia ponders the unfairness of hellfire
and the fallacies of falling hard.
What was her sin again?

iv. le 31 octobre
Kids cackle, donning demon masks.
Tonight she finds the edges of her face;
no mask, but living skin; an element of truth;
revelation for a reeling heart;
the foundation of a miracle.

v. le 29 décembre
Regal and distinguished in faux fur,
she stands, with mona lisa on her lips;
lost in petite reveries. She trusts
tenderness and trickles of tears;
the tools that taught her oh so much;
no need for magic, fey