I watched you Titania:
the blue veins that
travel in patterns
on your thighs
like tributaries
seeking the delta
at the river mouth,
the froth where legs part.
You mothered this morning
with dawn-fresh kisses
and milk-drop promises
soft-lipped, gentle
as filigree of spider’s web,
melting the steaming warmth
of a swelling dewy day,
and my heated breath.
Then your protest;
I heard your keening noises,
animal whimpers
indecent demands.
Now I, making my mark,
am utterly, hopelessly,
vulgarly vanquished,
pretending the victor.
I sheathe my sword
and jealously tend
any hint of hurt
under my cupped palm.
You curl in foetal ball.
I stand above you, spent,
with fractured feathers,
and wonder which way
the wind blows.