Princess Aurora of the Wilding Wood

The nap was no good
and the kiss was worse 
(hello, consent?) 
but now she’s fully escaped 
the curse and steeped herself  
in mud-luscious bliss. 

Sleeping’s for the faint of 
heart, and hers has been 
jumpstarted by the howl 
of moon and the flow 
of stream. 

Beauty’s in the eye of 
the beholder, and she be
-holds it here, close to heart, 
in the way the sky dances 
through the leaves.

::
In November, we poem. And sometimes the wayward princesses come out to play.

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