Raspberry juice seeps through her teeth
and drips out of the corner of her faked-smile.
Her lips are stained by blackberries,
each one delicately plucked
at the exact moment she was least ready for it.
She lies on the ground
beneath the tree that gave her this fruit.
Tall and strong it looms over her,
blocking the sun, absorbing it for himself,
and covering her in shadows.
Even in the shade he can see that
each white frill of her dress is
stained with sweetness.
He smiles while he stares down at his masterpiece,
his artwork, his property.
She lies in this familiar place, and
it is at once both her prison
and the safest life she can imagine.
She lies beneath him as
the sweet taste of raspberries
bursts through her lips
waiting for the next blackberry to be plucked.