poetryspam

Warming Her Pearls (for Judith Radstone)
~Carol Ann Duffy

Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I´ll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She´s beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit´s foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head.... Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does.... And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.

fic: Teethed on a crucifix and cradled underwater

title: Teethed on a crucifix and cradled underwater
Merlin, Elena-centric gen post-ep for 3.06. General Audiences, 945 words. All Elena's strange wonderful independence can't really be gone for good: She didn't really care so much that her hair looked more like dandelion fluff than it did like spun gold.

( what should I be but the fiend's god-daughter? )