The Princess

United by the hierphant, we bridge the sacred mysteries.

No one knows whether to slap or hug the princess;
on Wednesday night, her dancing attacks your anger, her hips sway, like a snake descending into its basket, blonde strips forced over her eyes. Her moves are full of manufactured confidence: faked seductiveness, short dresses,
pouted lips that appear at all times, skirts lifted to her thighs.

Before the moon appears, a fairy with wings of innocence visits her; her hair in a relaxed tail so her beauty shines through. In class, her laugh is carefree and easy, she slouches in a chair when boredom hits, she smiles and it spreads through the room.
A laugh full of joy, distant memories, no sign of a pout.
Her words lose value when I close my eyes: her warmth seeping through my body like a shiver through a coil.