My helpless scent lies dormant
I wait for her orders,
a foot soldier I am,
licking blades of green yellowed grass as
underground revolutions resurface.
To the sound of plunging hooves
crested, her dried-red bridal veil rides
craning against her side-saddled dominance,
all for all, with, and to
a blue-blade drawn tight against her thigh.
You know her,
You’ve seen the Queen before.
She’ll have your head
And wear it tied to her saddle.