Festooned in form-hugging white, streaming face buried in his cologne-scented chest,she stands there, a miracle of beauty.
The casket,stranded,stands on the catafarque, mere afterthought, an alibi for crime of betrayal. Helen’s latest conquest lies cold and ashen in the cosy coffin.
But mourning becomes her whose painful loss is reason for this gathering of grief. Yet this loss is gain of fabulous riches bequeathed, gate to another palace.
And out there waits her Paris to elope with her to Elysium, her boudoir of soft slaughter.
@ Chris Anyokwu. November 5, 2026.
