Of Queen's Claw Feet

Luke has left

devoured by bathwater

gone cold.

She remains

a feignwarmth

so gallant I

salivate a vein

in a leaf

nibbled by Earth’s Sol

in winter’s tight skin

bitten by scruff.

And I beg her to become

Ruskin’s Mythic Queen whose

hip I hold in hand to

till with my tongue and

pull the corners of

her lips all

pink and lovely
into my smile.