Golden
hair meets a rush of sudden air,
a
beautiful gray-eyed mistress. She can't
even
speak; for who would listen? The
apple
of his eye and the victim of his gaze;
they
say "Don't stop," and she doesn't.
She
will smile blandly and continue to sigh,
pretending
that yes, this is what she wants.
"You
are dull," her mother says. Only a
child!
What else could she want? Tiny roses
are
embroidered on her dress; fineries of
a
queen. And the queen herself could not
stop her; she will
only cough quietly
into her hand, balled up in a fist. And they
will take her red cheeks for pleasure.