Gothic Queen: Part One, Forbidden Pleasures

Dressed as black as lightless night,
the stars exist only in your eyes.
Penetrative, oval, emerald eyes
which see right through me.

Your dress, Victorian,
with leather strapping
which buckles around you.
Signifying your social status.

At your command,
you gracefully slide a glove off
and you snap your fingers.
Which is followed by obedience.

Darkly elegant
in both dress and speech.
Aristocratic knowledge,
epicurean by manners.

You have a heart beneath
which beats like a band of drums,
announcing your presence
to any lover whose ear is in your bosom.

Any servant, any maid, and anybody
could be summoned by your snap,
into the Queen’s Chambers.
There, velvety curtains drape

cathedral-like, staind-glass windows.
The incoming, dusty beams of sunlight
shone over your black bed curtains.
Within this veil, hidden from the purity

of light, forbidden pleasures are practiced.
You wear your crown still,
mating with whichever devil
you summon, then upon first sight,

you beckon with your finger
with a smile curving like a scimitar.
Any one of the reluctant lovers
smiles facades, and does as you will.

Vines weave and thorns adorn your crown.
Teeth long and pointed like daggers.
The tips of which become blood-stained.
Any servant lured within your bed curtain,

loses all free will, and must allow you, the Queen yourself, to undress them,
hissing, biting, slapping and lashing…
Any cries heared beyond, go ignored.

When trickles of blood appear
over your black lips and chin,
dotting the bedsheet,
you’re still not appeased…

The leather whip by your bedside,
studded with iron bolts,
the cracking of it over their backs,
your bloodstained teeth only then bare

into a Cheshire cat smile.
And a low, cackling laugh.
Your studded whip becomes
a leash to degrade them.

Your servants are your property.
And in your realm, the concept
of human rights does not exist.
Abolished it was by you, long ago.

When you are at last appeased,
the servant must muscle through
the physical trauma of dressing
themselves and walking out

like nothing ever happened!
Their blood smeared over your body,
laying back, humming an old tune.
Then a pause,
noticing the bed curtain
illumine with the daylight beyond
your veiled, forbidden pleasures
of being wild by moonlight.

The grime of both dried blood and flesh
beneath your tapered fingernails.
The copper taste of blood and wine
dried over your mouth. Another sip,

dripping like the hot wax from the candles
down your sunken cheeks,
and like the creme
from the penises of your servants.

You knaw
at the now crusted, bloody grime,
wildly licking the dried man-creme,
And chewing on the bits of flesh!

Slurping down their flesh, blood,
and creme with more rose wine,
again becoming freshly wet
in anticipation for nightfall.

Then you notice the unsheathed dagger
hiding within the folds of the torn sheets.
Along the length of the edge was blood,
which you used to lacerate them.

As swiftly as a reptile,
snatching the dagger
and running it over your tongue,
you again are appeased.

Then it was time
to face the sun,
the evil sister
of the moon.

With one, long sweep of your arm,
the bed curtain swung open,
and in shone what is truly Hell to you.
The purity of God’s light!

To be continued…