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.