Autonomy
You named me:
object, doll, art.
Symmetry of cloves
and cloisters.
Fertility of faces,
lashes, lips.
Harmony of oranges,
globes luscious, impenetrable.
Everyone wants to be
a beautiful woman,
to live in that skin.
Standing in lambent loveliness,
chandelier-adorned
and adoration-soaked,
yes, I let you gaze.
I gave you that
in exchange for being seen,
to have dimension,
my power
refracted
through you
into something meaningful—
but empty
in the end,
only kaleidoscope sorcery.
We are named:
queen,
cuckquean,
fool.


I keep coming back to this one.