Standard

Yesterday, you were
quixotic while I
came from lazy beggars. Yesterday, I
was obedient; buttoned up from the lips
down, waiting for a king’s summon.

Then, his majesty came out, knocking
on my
sun stained door. He arrived erect,
like a statue of a king
might, speaking assertively, made
up of upper-class
things.

I stood small. Barely reaching his knees.
Pushing myself to
abound in poise, to receive him equally.

We drew cards. When he smiled, I matched it.
When he threw wit, I caught it
in reciprocation.
I baked his boasts in cinnamon and
ate them as dessert.

By his majesty’s departure, he had
narrowed in volume.
Shrunk and blushing, he requested
me,
as a future gift to himself.

Now, I sit with his once luxurious crown,
recalling his Utopian image that left with him
yesterday.