Nymphet

For the Girl in the Red Dress.

Klaire.
it was her name;
her name and the hymns of angels,
chorused to the heavens,
lilting off the tongue
like birdsong carries on a morning breeze.

Klaire:
bringing with it the memory of pomegranates
and the contrast of white on caramel.
to whisper it was to coax secret nights and flitting glances
from the eye of my mind;
to shout it was to celebrate her laughter
and how she danced under the summer sun,
and the way her long black hair tangled between my fingers.

Klaire;
for I have loved and still love and will love,
her: my princess.
my nymphet.