Iron Clad

Honeyed light over hillsides
Slides slowly down my flanks.
All is quiet.

Silence;
Shamelessly shattered by that she-devil.
First her coarse call,
Followed by corpulent hands
Caressing me?
Hardly. Those hands are hard, conquering.

She lifts me lazily, effortlessly,
Puts a glint in my eye
As the sun takes my face,
Before burying my brow in the block.
Again,
Again.

Splintered, wood and my
iron clad pride
collect at her feet.

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