Operation Dimple Pop

Have you ever seen her smile late, or early--
when the field mice hide their eyes from dawn,
when the Necoshiana's smell their sweetest,
and the blue crescent moon sinks into the sea.

Have you seen her dimples hoist rose lips--
an idol to aesthetic majesties of human form,
and they do oh so well to hide her pain.
Another Cinderella story omit the glass slipper.

Should the passive prince return to her wantingly,
with naught but promises, how the could she then
leave majesties of the endless summer solstice,
and abandon her kingdom of solace on a whim?

If only a splint of grace, of her passive beauty
could weave itself unto my own heart, and sing--
songs of autonomy, fulfillment of soulful wishes.
But she yet stays fast and true to her decision.

And so I pray, upon those sweet spring eves,
for euphoric graces to be instilled upon dimples
tired of holding the propitious grin, and the lies--
save the monument that is her smile, and her soul.