In the fountain
from my
fairytale
you jumped through
nickles and pennies
with 
a spirit so rich
I thought I saw
a golden glow shining
from your chest.

I smiled
and I smile still
to think 
that you could swallow knives
and digest
them into diamonds.

To think
that such a
wounded angel
could be porcelain-perfect
again.

To think 
that 
I was witness
to your brilliant dance,
and that you meant
every perfect curving
of your 
softly shapened mouth.

I marveled over
the splendour 
in your delighted eyes
and died inside
as daybreak pulled me 
through
the mirror again.