Boxes, Smirnoff, and RibbonsA mother, draped on her grown child's bed,
Clutched navy velvet boxes.
While barely adults sleep
Stiff in black vinyl bags.
Gold bands on neck
Soaked in stick and salt,
As wives drip onion drops
On daughter's eyes
And husbands dive into Smirnoff.
Plaques on walls,
Letters read "Honor,"
And fathers nail yellow ribbons
In his PyreAt one time,
I dreamed an Indian Prince
Would strip me of my home,
Adorn me in silk gold stitchings.
Then I learned they hit their loves,
So I turned him to the tigers
I dreamed of a Frenchman once,
Who bound me in satin words
And kissed his language into my blood.
But a Frenchmen gathers mistresses
And I am a jealous one.
I dreamed of a burley Irishman,
His taste sweet and masculine,
His castle bares tapestries of war.
But Irishmen drink,
And bring barmaids home to bed.
I have an American,
Who adorns me in silk gold stitchings,
And kisses his language into my blood.
His taste is sweet and masculine,
And in his pyre I shall lay.
My dearest HermioneMy dearest Hermione,
The rays of the sun perfectly strike the strands of your golden brown hair. Making it seem like you are wearing a crown of light. This never fails to dazzle my eyes. Sometimes I think that the crown you wear is most deserving of you. Since you are, indeed, the most perfect creature in the world. Smart, beautiful and a bit feisty if I may say so.
I write this letter to you knowing that, at present, I cannot seem to make personal contact with you. Certain circumstances prevent us from openly being with each other. You do not know of the many times I've tried. I have decided to end it now. To end this unsatisfied hunger of love from driving me to insanity.
I ask you now to meet me at the North Tower at exactly 10 pm of tomorrow.
I'll be waiting.
The One Who Loves You
The one who loves you. This thought echoed in Hermione'