Fiddlehead

You dragged me by my feet 
       through your garden of winter
    but you know I enjoy being bound
       and gagged-
   at least by you.
I know how your garden grows.
   To me you are as clear as the moon when I close my eyes.
  You are a black marble statue,
   cracked down the forehead,
   pocked with your own beauty.
 Surrounded by green,
    you grow your men to be preserved,
       their faces smashed against the concave glass
     of a pickle jar until you are ready 
             to consume them.
   If I pepper myself with him, 
         could I be worthy to decorate the head
     of your ship?
   Tall and proud like a mast,
you are but a little boy yourself,	
   peeking through cage bars,
      looking for love.  
   Looking for me.
 I thought I could let you run out 
    of me. Thought I could bleed
      you out of me. Wash you out with acid.
  My veil stays perpetually lowered
     and I stay waiting for you to raise it.
  Though your face is sometimes blurred
      your power remains radiant.
  The power of power corrupted.        

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