New poetry from NER 40.1.

I ought to see myself as a man. Be proud and grateful.
I’d much rather be your ermine with a silver bell
on my pink satin collar. Let my farewell and arrival
tease the same gasp from you. Let your sound
surprise you every time. If you grant a silk pillow, 
I’ll make of myself a moon your guests can admire.
When lords throw bloody chunks at their hounds,
impress them with your finger dipped in honey or olive oil, 
all I need to survive.

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