A Christmas Treat.

I peep through iced, 
quartz patterned pane.
Ripened berries drop,
mashed mistletoe,
ruddy red holly fruits,
squashed, squished, 
diluted pink seeps,
over miniature mountains of crystal snow.
Muffled, silent breezes freeze,
morph to blizzard-bullies,
bustling, waltzing, zigzag flakes
jigsaw into place,
sieved via silken clouds
finer than Rose’s blush, 
pure as egg-white,
whipped to one hundred percent carat crytsalization,
then...shrivel-spin like airborne Swan Lake ballerinas.
Tinselled ivy interweaves garlands of ruby spotted, shining holly.

The tiptoe of time has drained my eyes, once navy blue,
used for quill, dipped in well.
Hair, shredded wheat
gasps for a comb.
Cheeks, saturated scarlet
now smothered chalk.
Carmine M lips a wash-worn W.
Shapely legs withered shapeless. 
Ivory nails brittled,
soft pink dress weeps grey.
Stole my Beth, made me Eliza,
Refined accent aged to a run down rasp.

Memoires of love lost Ken,
head permanently turned,
peg for a leg,
sweet pea bouquets.
He puckered
I pursed
a pink bliss kiss was born, until...
Music box melodies chimed,
Madeira ballerina, legs up to her backside...
(Kinky Ken didn’t know I was aware of the affair...)
Heavy sandalwood scent announced
her pout and crimsoned grin,
twirled, swirled like a tossed penny, 
then shook as if her limbs were not joined together.
Steadied by her friend, Cindy- 
who’s always off her head...
shifting patterns in the wallpaper, 
lying in her lavender bed.
I grabbed my man...
Maddie jerked and drooped,
her spring sprung.
Our symphony restored
I click-clacked, Ken hopped.

Happy helter-skelter days,
sliding the glistened tinsel,
leap-froging bauble to bauble.
Ballooned ball gown billowing,
parachutes,
Ken’s cute shout ‘Where’s ya knickers?’ 
Landed gently on chrome cushions
of twisted ribbon and butterfly bows.
Floor shadow-webbed with looped decorations,
Children’s books of strawberry coloured fish
and sea snakes that hiss.
Our romantic bliss... cruelly curtained by...
Ken’s premature end...
Wolfed again by Wesley Westie.

Swallowed between my bosoms 
lies a cupid locket,
brimmed with his well wished winks.
Once, beauty of all!
Queen of Yuletide,
atop Canadian Spruces.
I glance up at my replacement...
Christina Christmas,
pristine, pretty poser,
skin of sparkle, freesia fragranced
infused in her make-believe world.

Now I sit in my biscuit tin tomb 
on a frilly- frayed paper- bell bed.
Flawed festive bulbs whisper between themselves
while Ed, my  felt-tipped, tattooed elf
shares sups from a choc-brandy liquor.
The mirrored lid slides...
I await redeemed aromas
from my suitor.
Ken’s love eternal.
Image courtesy of Lambtron,  Wikimedia Creative Commons Share 2010