Draped in a medieval tapestry,

she moved like fluid stained glass,

dancing a fandango with castanets.

Home from the Spanish Civil War,

she spoke with blood in her mouth

from a bullet that grazed her throat.

After reclining next to her jardiniere

of Dracaena marginatas,

she made yogurt from goat’s milk,

and a soup out of roasted chestnuts,

raisins, and rutabaga.

She wiggled and winked at Unicorn,

much to his delight, but he could only

smile and stamp his foot as she wrapped

a red bandana around his sinewy neck.

Unicorn trots off to the nearest creek

to bathe his considerable genitalia,

even filing his curled up hoof nails

on a sharp obsidian rock.

Their love filled the air with invisible energy.

There was no going back to life as it was.