A rusted padlock hangs
between my breast and ribs,
a keyless ornament once
polished by fairytales.
Every glass slipper fits a fool
who thinks lips possess resurrection,
and happily ever after comes with a map.
Quixotic eyes can go blind,
but because it is my heart
guarding unforgiving, my vision
has perfect hindsight.
In my last days of sticks and bones
romance has reached its expiration date.
opinions are spoiled fruit; wisdom
sits alone watching reruns.
©Susie Clevenger 2016