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.