A sharp slice of memory

sluices her toe-tips,

a jab of jade

which creeps

and cups her heels

in opulent folds,

coercing her.

 

A juice infused with malachite

and shattered emeralds,

the liquid vineyard

where crystal drinks

flow cold

and in abundance,

parches her.

 

A spillage and spoil of

spectral brides

in shredded lace

with flaxen hair

and ivory veils

and sugared frills

melt around her.

 

In salty, silvered digs

she sinks through sand,

lit by sun,

fringed by frost,

milky skin

bleaching to pearl,

washed

and set free.