sleeping beauty

I think all villanelles need something to do with seasons (thank u Edmund William Gosse)

Summer and spring.
Two far apart
to start anew, anything.

Yet, hands open wider
to accept sharp detachment.
Letting a sword sink a little deeper

to stop time,
or make it seem as though
it is all mine.

The second of transfixion 
Has halted any movement
Like guards in their jurisdiction

Spring, summer, yearn more.
For the gash to mature.
But all that is done is stare and adore

Not even a tear
can wipe the left stain.
The time has been taken, I fear.

Only I ignore the gash.
Leave me blissfully comatose.
As months amass
like the pollen atop my eyelash.

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