A pearl mansion, three stories tall
Soaring on a halcyon hill.
A stretched view to read the world.
A throne with riches to fill.
The comfort of a swain.
But carnality in silence
An everlasting reserve of cake.
A bottomless appetite in defiance.
A quail in a cage, the keys in her hand.
To pluck the plume languidly.
A daffodil to determine fate:
“I love him. I love him not.”
To spoil their fly,
To reap their fall.
Their loyalty hazily sewn
In grounds of her royal hall.
Heels encased in crystals of tears.
To lien their names
And shine her shoes
Perched high on a golden bluff.
To shutter her windows
On cloudy days.
To be a star in the night
Despite the moon’s wane.
Eternal seasons of the self.
To watch feathers move
Without the burden of wind.
The quietude of stillness but to fill the void.
To reign solely as a dreary majesty.
To kiss and then walk astray.
Or perhaps earnest denial
To pacify the pain.