Once upon a time, you couldn't
shoot an arrow through these
woods without tinking a glass bier.
Let us talk of these
other Sleeping Beauties,
the women who missed
the apple, but bit the peach,
or tongued the poison plum,
only to fall fast asleep
each with lips sweetly glazed
with drying nectar traces.
Each the heroine of her
very own fairy tale.
The witch wasn't evil, you know.
Just in product development.
Do you know how hard it was
to sleep in those castles!
And daughters, sadly, all
girls, are always cheap.
As for princes, or rather
all that host of princes
he was just one of many.
S.B. 57 didn't wake
till her lips were fully
chapped, and it was fascia
fatigue and pain that
woke her. Not love.
S.B. 101 only woke
for a man because he
was a bit, well, you know,
and women weren't allowed
to kiss in the woods then.
Times have changed.
Those silent sylvan sleepers
are tossing and turning
in their sleep, till biers bump,
join, and new magics
happen. The witch, down
sized by lack of kings,
has joined them, and turned
her talents to new fruits.
Bite one. Tongue one,
and you won't be sleeping,
but rather wide awake, your
whole body ripe with juices and
succulent to the kiss you most
want to draw. Even if those kisses
are only clouds and butterflies.
Those other Sleeping Beauties?
Some still dream, beneath waving
wings. Some toss and turn, sharing
fruit with other beauties. And some,
some, my friend, are waking.
Waking, all on their own,
yawning, "Aaaonce upon a time."
then rising, all alone, to walk
into stories yet untold.