In ticking and pins
The evening spins
Cinderella in her gown
Light and airy as cappuccino froth
Bejeweled and bubbling
But for the shoes
Clear and sharp
As a razor, biting
Her feet, the delicate
Pale of her instep.
The godmother smirks, says
You must hurt
To be loved, beautiful
In your crinoline, veil
Over your face to hide
The grimace
As you pinch and scrape the evening
Perfection teetering
On bloodied heels.