Enigma (By Eleanor Freemer)
Who am I? What am I? My flesh is real, Yet I am like someone invented by a malicious God, a creature constructed of fog and mists of swirling clouds that hide me From the passing crowds. My bones are woven grasses that wave along the zephers which stir around my earthbound feet. But touch me gently with your hands and you will feel my pounding heart. Look at me with tender eyes and you will see Sorrow like sap running through the branches of my soul. And if you love me, we two will born like a hot spring that soothes away all pain, enfolding us with softness and perfume. Than when you leave me, as you surely will, I will shrivel and fall apart ...