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Aramitz J Durant Sep 2019
a woman like her—
the kind of woman you dream
about on lonely nights,
your hand spread across the cold
side of the bed, missing someone
you never even had, a
woman, dreamlike, you made up,

a pretend fantasy.
you’d have your hands cut off if
you dared to think aloud; hung,
drawn and quartered; burnt on the
pyre for nothing short of treason
if you so much as opened
your mouth, thought too loud. so you

don’t think, don’t speak, don’t
look at her. especially
not like that. because no-one
can ever know how you feel.
not when she’s the queen. but the
secret you both harbour bobs
up and down, weathers the storm,

unsinkable, you
and her, and your child surviving
despite the odds deposited
in front of you by the count’s
lust and manipulation.
his desire for her does
not overpower her honesty,

her integrity,
steadfast. powerful anne. the
queen. and you survive, guilty
but alive, hurting and breathing
with all you have left to breathe.
you turn away, nothing left
to give but your loyalty

to your god, and
the fragile promise that your
son will be safest never
knowing the truth about you,
and you will be safest away
from anne, away from temptation
that could get the two of you

hanged. but your faith
holds out for you — god always
does — and the king dies. the king
dies, and she, crowned and ultimately
powerful, holds her hands out
to you and promises a
world of together. of a

queen, and her minister.
Aramitz J Durant Sep 2019
She had meteoroids falling from her mouth
when she spoke, a wish waiting
to be granted, and she murmured
to the young Adonis: forget me not,

and he, bare-faced, beautiful, perhaps
more than she, held her in his arms
as if she were Aphrodite herself
and promised: forget me not.

He always said the planets
aligned when they met, the sun
alight in her laugh and the moon
alive in her smile of darkness;

and he, alabaster, like a work
of Duquesnoy, shattered as the meteor crashed
through his love, terracotta rooftop,
the forget-me-nots burning, his hands stained like merlot.

And the girl with bluebell eyes,
stars on her tongue, teeth like the milky way,
looked to the angel-faced boy and hissed:
forget me not.

— The End —