ARTificial: Latched
The throne you own—it was a dowry gift, Sealed to you with that fateful kiss. Did you forget? I also bestowed a threshold and vows, To be dragged through the mud by an oxen plough, Turned up and asunder— A combined blunder That left us both in the earth, clinging to dust and sod.
Do you know what's odd? Destruction prepares for growth, And I've grown capacious from loving you, Hollowed out and coated in silver, Poured molten, then forged inside my liver. It spread to my bones and embalmed my veins, Puddled in my feet and enshrined my brain, Until all I saw was sparkling rain, Dripping from your eyelashes As we bonded In bands of heat lightning. I stood in disbelief as the fog lifted, Evaporating at the edge of town From blades of grass atop Bavarian clay, Never once did I regret a moment— Latched at the throne, now left to decay.
Your silver will shine on, my Queen. In the sanctum of my mind, Kneeling at my tattered throne, I'm the weak and feeble King— So divine.
MATHESON 9-21-24
