His Dragon

I should prefer to be his Dragon,
Nothing violet nor royal, I would
Not be Golden or
Important, simply, I would
Wish for him
To keep me at arm's length.
Because he is afraid of
Me and loves me all the more for that.
I would wonder,
To extend the depth
Of my
Confrontation if to smooth
That furrowed space between his
Draconian eyes (as he possess…and therein
I accept the dream of myself in green and
Blue and nothing Violet)
I should wish to grant favor, be
Privy to his Glance, as I would, to the
Whim of his
Contest.

I should wish to be his Sleep,
Then, if not his Dragon, to
Settle atop him, pouring myself
Into every forged valet of
His smile and Touch.
I would enjoy being
Necessary to
Him, necessary and unseen, the
True-heart of any
Argumentative
Faction. If I cannot
Be his Dragon let him see
Me as such. His metallic lead his
Hesitancies, cocking an eyebrow
And claiming prosecution. Sense. The
Discrepancies in attacking
A Victim. Perhaps.

In a different
Dress in softer material,
Less red, I could
Have been his Lover…
His daughter.


But to love I must
Be…to him my interceding
Apologies and
Intimated ramblings. If
I should love
Him Once, as a girl,
As a child then
I should prefer to
Love him always as a
Dragon.

I should prefer that
Most of
All.