He, the archdeacon,
kept me a spectacle
on his merry-go-round
of splintered wood,
whipped me
into submission
every chance she got.

She was disgusted
with my ugliness, but
enlightened my soul
with her kind-acts,
she was my gypsy-lady,
my lovely Esmeralda
and I the bell-ringer
of Notre Dame,
her hunchback,
broken & shamed
& in love.