Wanderland
Sanguine she stands before the silver coifed queen.
Shrugs off some unbuttoned lace. Shakes hair
agleam, ribboned, examined, chin raised to glean
sheen of an offering fingers prepare —
sudor to slickness where she’s prohibited
hair. Pink kitty cat coy peeks at subjects there,
oversized wing chairs, uninhibited
stares. What says this stray, wandered their way, Voltaire
in French in college, now learns to obey?
Pink lips already spread won’t promise, pray.
In chasms of earth, she shall beg to stay.
This hole a kingdom where fealty’s paid
before mad, suited suitors, tea, clotted cream,
to sounds of surrender, sometimes a scream.
Punk Noir Magazine 
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