A tribute to Elizabeth Siddal
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Slowly, she pulls on the heavy white gown,
which has grown damp and dull.
Her pale legs dip into the marble bathtub.
She stifles a hoarse cough,
as she lowers herself into the maze
of white layers that drift upwards
attempting to escape.
“You are truly her, dear,
down to the last detail,”
he whispers as his dark eyes travel
across her porcelain face,
and down to her rose coloured
nipples which peek through the
now off-white fabric.
Her wet tongue touches cracked lips, and
the craving begins to take hold.
“What flowers will I hold today?”
she questions, occupying her mind.
His muscular hand reaches towards her,
pushing her head down into the ice-cold water.
Her brittle hand reaches
as she gasps at air, and
red tendrils drift around,
threatening to garrotte her.
“Violets, crownet weeds and poppies, dear,”
he smiles as she struggles to breathe.
“I love you,” she says hoarsely,
and no one listens.