Her beauty was ultimately marred
by my incessant need for her beauty.
I wished to tell her she need not try so hard,
though knew this to be, ultimately futile.
I even coaxed her with a juicy red apple once,
just to slow her down.
But she explained fairly how she didn’t like apples,
or huntsman, but preferred mirrors
because they spoke to her in words
that were not forced but honest.
She looked at me and asked, is it so hard for a frog to see her beauty could never have the power to transform anything more than its own fading?
And that no kiss could stop time,
that fairy tales are real, but only the Grimm ones.
Let me show you, she said, and taking my lips in hers, sweet like berries
I watched her turn to dust through the stained glass light of morning.