A paintbox girl in the mirror frame
Hallway washed out to sepia.
Gemma is swinging the locket of Mary
She's wearing high heels
For lounge bar climbing.
A mystery of perfume
Sent from her mother
Leafing through a scrapbook of hopes
Torn from the dusting.
She leaves charms
In her way to the door
The key on a chain, hypnotising.
She's polished her girl to cut glass.
Gemma has around her throat
A silver rope from her father.
The clasp is strong
And she knows the cost.
He's welding a ring to cage her.