royal gloves

seeping smoothly through the cascades of feathers

she rolls them up like sleeves for effect

gently enchanting the party

couples move smoothly on the dance floor

playing roulette with the devil

in competitions with

baccarat chemin de fer

and flutes of champagne

they are waiting for her smooth talk

singled out from the crowd

it sounds

like a nightingale singing

amidst green envy

smooth sweet droplets sprinkle

leaves and soil

leaving nothing significant

staring glances, stunned gestures wander

following the Perfect scent

to the heart of things

where nothing can mislead

already on the trail

immersed deep in gold

telling stories of noble times

where Brahms burst through the windows

recalling her youthful love

the one with the smooth cheeks and the bow

a cavalier descending to the common

people fed on royal pulp

everyone is now shushed

looking at her raising her regal head

for she reigns alone

and her gown has real feathers

of an owl piercing through the great-grandparents’ lore

leading straight to the gallows

taking all misfortunes on board

and melting them into fine dust

forming new life

the one that goes smoothly into history

---

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