Cloud Walking Tea

Lover,

In the echoes of victory, I hear your name

argue with its hubris as your sly nobility

lingers about the isle- the

Worldly Prince's poor disguise.

Ancient glances catch across the glass

and conjure crows along the gateway

Secret Muse, softly dreaming

in the quiet shame of midnight.

With the wisdom of a century,

I pour your cup into mine, and

crown thee King, our Royal Majesty

of Passion and its impish woes.