I am a queen Surrounded by my men,
With naked armaments,
And hardened swords.

The monarch of their fantasies.
I accept,
the honor of their contempt.
Their grace,
splattered on my face.

I knee… I smile… I close my eyes-
What joy to feel…
their warm embrace I, their queen.
Upon a pedestal,
they, now soft and spent.

The woman who emerges glazed and gleaming isn’t soiled;
she’s consecrated.
Her skin glistens with the map of shared ecstasy,
each pearlescent trail a testament to desire.
In that shimmering aftermath,
the artist’s canvas smiles, radiant in her liquid crown.