The Concubine

She will boil loud in her heated, wrathful furnace, had she only been gentle, quiet, and listening from dawn to he who sings, all faithful as even the colors of the rainbow with its archness, sheltering beneath her blue wings. And she remembers all for their devotion with graceful youth— but you are mine alone. And what of my youth if I delight in your black dress, inlaid with stars of light? A little white smile like a radiant tiara graces your face, with a gloomy confession, my lips shall soften your guard, when I rise, restless, my sleep wandering into your embrace— and you are mine alone. When the day comes, my weariness will inform on me, my body's betrayal hangs in the spotlight's noose. All that remains to me from this night is a song regarding my powerlessness to choose. Between Queen Eve, my evening debt to you, daughter of the sun, and Lilith in light of my nightly love. I am yours alone.