i.

Here sits her bloody highness;
Bitch del Mundo -
humanised. Crying from
Her chair of bones, 
Lying from her throat and
Spine. 

The swine, Little Miss
Taking-her-beatings-with-a-grin-
and-an-'I-miss-you', expecting
You to wait another few years
For another kiss, until she's
Bored with her throne's negating
Iron fist.

Until she's tired of waiting
For this. 'til her
Minute hands stop clapping
The hours on and her feet
Stop pacing the distance
Between our lips.

No, allow you to revise:
Here sits a little girl.
No tricks, lies or power.

Not in this instance,
Not in your lifetime.