Slave Dancer

March 6, 2010
Beauty by no means, doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt
Italia, Milan ruled by a pothead prince
where my heart was broken and mended
banished and fought off
I, as a slave dancer
come in the bluest of the night
The Italian city alive with boisterous music
Sirens swim in pools
Olive trees in courtyards
blazing fires, swift horses, grated cheeses, warm wine
Behind sheer bedroom drapery
Wild courtiers whisper sweet
Amidst congregated cobblestone
Up the hill
the spirited woodland
the freed one and her husbandry love live
In the eve, she sings of heartache
In the morn, she sings of wh-----g
Throughout the morning, her interrupted slumber
she writes to faeries and talks with the elves
At dusk, she must return to the betrothed prince
He unbound her chains a year or so ago
but the papers claim she still belongs to him
Though what is written down doesn’t apply to him
When he announced his engagement to the young, agile bride
The pleasure she could provide
was regretfully put aside
A prince can do as a prince can wish
He could ask for a dance
when she refuses
He’ll ask another for her hand
A slave dancer married now
A prince can come in between
A prince married now
A slave dancer can’t come in between
So she secretly arrives
in a silver carriage ride
behind closed doors
with open windows
to forget ever more
a love that never happened
a love dismissed
a love I can never have
because he is not the one, not the one for me





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