The Far Pastures (or "Envy")

moss-green his eyes were as
he hung the chains about
her neck and she,

she wore them willingly,
casting glances at those
other, grander pastures

forbidden to her, behind stone walls, and
the longing wore her away
to bone, her heart, ribbon-

cut, meat sliced, rare, upon
a platter, shuddering within the
whitened hulk of her ribs

oh, how the chains weigh down
now, their indelible impressions
leaving their weird script upon her shoulders,

oh beware, beware, his greening eyes,
his hands about your neck,
the curling lip of his invidious smile