Daylight in the castle,
there is the king and the queen.

She is of Europe, floats like a bee
upon clouds, these saltwater beacons
drenching for her hair to dampen black.

And he thinks she seems angelic,
each morning, opening umbrella limbs
stars & stripes he gave her last night.

Shine and prim kiss-kneads,
nobody can tell that he loves me.

The pond across the way,  I drown
in the flesh-earth, memory of our space
just ruffles swaddling where he tastes.

I am his handmaid as I am queen,
when light surfaces on my snowbank
ever ghosting the skin of knobby-knees.

Daylight in the castle,
beams for more than just a queen –
clumsy, odorless of the love she’s seen.