She was swallowed up and trapped in her lion hair and no amount of coaxing would get her to leave her harem of waves.
She clawed at love and it mounted her with deadly precision leaving bloodless teeth marks from an unrequited union.
Her regulating temperature from now would be cold stares with a little bitter twist of “fuck off leave me alone" dialogue for those that dared to sweep back her tendrils.
Leave her to be in the numbness of her foolishness and seclusion for you have no scissors that would give her any pleasure.
She has her own iron shears to cut away the words that branded her once lioness heart with LOVE.
Inside her emulsion of castellan curls her crying is muffled and shuffled to the end of the caring line.
Trapped is not such a bad happening when your body grows over your groaning wounds of love.