yet keeps the devil up her skirt.
She picks the hours of least interruption
to dip her feet in the colours of the earth.
He thought himself a king,
holding a secret royalty in his chest;
with the depth of his heart a kingdom
and the curls on his head a crown.
She sees him walking towards her one day,
and a faint recognition ignites.
He hasn’t a clue but is drawn to her eyes.
She calls out, “If you are who I think you are,
I’ve always wanted to make love to you.”
“Well, who do you think I am?” he replies,
remembering his social chameleon tendencies.
