Raspberry juice seeps through her teeth

and drips out of the corner of her faked-smile.

Her lips are stained by blackberries,

each one delicately plucked

at the exact moment she was least ready for it.

 

She lies on the ground

beneath the tree that gave her this fruit.

Tall and strong it looms over her,

blocking the sun, absorbing it for himself,

and covering her in shadows.

 

Even in the shade he can see that

each white frill of her dress is

stained with sweetness.

He smiles while he stares down at his masterpiece,

his artwork, his property.

 

She lies in this familiar place, and

it is at once both her prison

and the safest life she can imagine.

 

She lies beneath him as

the sweet taste of raspberries

bursts through her lips

waiting for the next blackberry to be plucked.