Give Her Nine Wicks

I swear
by the oath
of an honest
prostitute

you placed two four-branch
candelabrum

and a single in spectral séance

upon the marble
your hand polishing
the chestnuts of our
prized carving such an
elongated replica of what
you stud under your peacock tunic
of silk that hangs above the scallop
of your boots measured of custom size
and fit lit only by a world of fire

excitable by
red I watch her
lift your peacock
engulfing a new fire storm
you're on the fringe of buying
me some time to watch it is so
touching my self vanity

I crave

she lifts
a red candle
from the candelabrum
my voice in a whisper
barely audible "give her
nine wicks" the cat o' nine tails
not in sight I see you

the one turns 
from the easel
the canvas wet
smock and red stilettos
add drama she motions me
in the closet "just open a crack"
she's dominating the commission to
hang in a gallery she steps into the
strap I feel you inside the moon she's
erasing all the clouds

"Victoria"

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist