Sometimes he scares me.
The whiteness of his ghostly skin,
his crocus eyes,
his lily mouth…
He’s but a child who
wants his world not taller
than his highness,
not wider than his pony.
A small plebeian spook,
apple in hand and fear
around my neck - his jester queen,
that’s what I am today.
He chose me with a wink,
a glint of sun fleeing his eye.
But when he kips
I pinch his nose and
bite his little finger.
