Regicide

We harvested so many grapes each day, Our hands and lips were purpled, stained The shade of royalty: kings gone away To die with queens, till rust remained Of each tarnished throne and crumpled gown. Inside her bed at night she floated far from me, And like a knight that tugs a queen’s great gown, I knew my enemy was brute Eternity, That crushes kingdoms made of stone or dreams. She often mentioned autumn—back at school, Her words like shears, slicing well-stitched seams Upon the royal tapestry, a cruel And fitting ending to the fading myth, Once woven lovingly, now scissored with!