The Shaking Queen

Once I dreamed you were drowning
held gently under strawberry milk.
There were flowers in your hair
as you screamed to me in bubbles.

Your hair wafting, wetly loose
in streams of chilled cotton candy
you are the blackest satin
ribbons of pink and burned onyx.

I hold court in a tank of spearmint
pale twisting green airs about my throat
I am above all the Shaking Queen,
in all and sundry you bow to me.

Your blood flows into chocolate
sullied yet again, by misfortune.
We cannot continue passing off
as though it were simply iron enriched.