Lobie Daughton

La Belle Dame

About to lose my head,
I move toward you like
Madame la Guillotine
Awaiting – en attendant –
one more aristo;

to devour
a dynasty,
You lure my tumbril
passion past
pose your majesty
against the skyline,
beckoning like death’s strange semaphore,
Like Fate.

Lain with you now,
The crowd forgotten – oubliant la foule –
I hear only the lullaby of
my own heart
and faint, – as though afar – the click of needles.

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