Cinderella

The dark air was thick with the scent
of flowers and vines
dark greens that groped for passing humans.
My glass slippers clicked on colored flagstones
laid by the hands of foreign laborers
you hired so cheaply.

Escaping ballroom lights
crystal teardrops tinkling overhead,
I pressed my forehead against the cool stone bench.
Inside, women spun round and round
propelled by men with flat soled shoes,
men who could dance endlessly.

I slipped off my shoes,
my foot tickled by rebel blades of grass
that had sneaked their wiley way up through the stones.
I laughed as a prince came through glass doors
pushing through the dark, into my night.

He loved my velvet dress,
tactfully refrained from mentioning my snagged stocking
bitten through by the stone bench which bore my weight.
The scent of roses and lavender carried me a song
and we said at once how it was our favorite.
We danced alone on the stones,
me in bare feet, him with a bare heart.
He was sweet in his obsequity.

We stopped near the mouth of a path
and allowed the darkness to swallow us.
Dark greens groped at me or maybe it was something else.
He called me Jasmine as he lay me down in cool grass,
brushed his lips across mine,
across my neck
and lower.

Whence we came you found my slippers,
called my name.
It didn't sound as sweet as Jasmine
and I sighed as I blossomed.

Midnight bells drowned out your voice
calling me.
The clock struck twelve.