The Queen

—Artless, she gives away what I possess
through art alone now. Young and fair, I won
the king , her father, on whose white-haired breast
I lay each night, my eyes cat-open. Soon
he lay in state. None has slept at my side
for two nights running since, The act of love
sends all its swollen pleasure to my pride,
pleasure that lies in knowing I can give
or take away such pleasure. All men's eyes
but served for mirrors once. This budding flirt
has tarnished them. Huntsman, bring me her heart;
I'll eat it. Queens should never end their days
as crones. I'll make me sole desire again,
then let all beauty die with me, amen.

by Reagan Upshaw