When she screamed his name out on the wind, their story spread for miles—
how she fell for all his stories and fell victim to his wiles.
Black shimmering hair, that boyish grin, his manner smooth as cream—
how could she know that things are not always what they seem?
Her arms rise up to meet the moon, conducting symphonies
of painful music as her screams and wind weave harmonies.
She spins her sins around her in a close-wound net—
A chrysalis of mourning that signs her deep regret
as miles away he races, making haste to leave.
Another maid abandoned with her heart upon her sleeve.
What Hell is there for men like this, off to unknown parts,
leaving spread behind them a trail of broken hearts?
This week’s prompt words are: name, out, wind, cream, shimmering, sin, grin, conduct, rise, miles, close, stories. Image by Claudia Soraya on Unsplash.