I will take my feelings and I will dress them as I choose,
in gaudiness and gilded robework,
in cruelty, or
in form. I
will have them dance before me,
lay before me, bare but for the ribbons binding one to another, so I might
ponder their design, reshape and rearrange,
then make them dance and dance again. I
will take them upon my knee one at a time, touch their chins,
inspect their jeweled throats, and I
will wonder at their secrets? and will listen to their whispers,
some just mindless giggling, and some sinister undertone, some with questions for me,
some with unanswered needs. I
might rise, once
or twice, take
a hand in each cold hand, some will be pale, some thundering, some
frail and some hardly daring to walk their fingertips along my palm. I
will let some close to me. I
will hold some to my breast and smell their hair.
Others, I
will distance myself from
after a single stiff rotation, meandering
partner to partner to get away from them. And I
will bear the weight of each resentful stare.
I will not speak so much with them, nor lose my mind among their scents, but I
do not claim to be disinclined to lingering. I am curious. I
will feast with them, day after day,
as suns pass sweetly overhead our stone archway,
taking little but enough from their chatter
to keep me quietly entranced, and basking. I
will watch them as they feed each other, here one dangling soft fruit over the others lips,
there one passing bitten bread to grateful hands,
and many more simply sipping, sipping,
sharing drinks from silver cups. I
will play their guardian, their
loving mistress, I
will be a queenly slave to them,
just my feelings and
I.
