The first time I saw her

I deduced from her briad and her emerald necklace

and her strands of bronzy hair

 - like willow leaves in the air -

That she must be called Helena.


But she toled everyone she was Alice and

seemed confortable with it.

Try as I might,

I could not relate her sight

to that name.


I wanted her to climb over me,

her teeth, warm with her breath,

biting my ear: "I am Helena,

You are the only persona

who knows my real name."


"What's your name?"

She greeted me with warm eyes

a meter away

from the scared pair of mine.




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