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.
[Read more.]
♦
Support good writing:
Subscribe to NER today.