The Princess
Published in
Dec 31, 2023
She was a princess,
sitting by the tithe barn,
counting the cracks in the walls,
of the Warwick castle.
There, in a boat on a lake,
making my way to the motte,
where the castle stood;
Fortified neatly like my heart
I was marksman.
And at the break of the morning,
I practiced in your estate,
hidden behind the palisade.
No matter where my arrow landed,
it always landed on the target,
in the field of your merciful hesitation,
like a good bacterial culture.