A dove flying over ahead of me,
It coos delightedly at the sun
Reminding me of the times when I wore a smile.
A body’s bed tells when the clock strikes twelve.
My glass slipper is still lost
In the ghostly hands of my prince,
Prince of Dreams, the one beneath the earth,
I am the girl who slept.
Never has the light shown upon my face,
Thighs a quiver in the grass,
Dew gathering in the corner of my lashes,
I am still asleep.
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