I hang before her like an oval moon.
In me her vanity gloats, imperfections shown;
a grey hair or increase in her tapered waist
is enough to bring her blood to a rolling boil.
None are safe.
Those whose youth and fairness I’ve exposed,
she has had worked to the bone
in her silk mills or worse. I would if I could –
to spare them from her green eyed spleen –
flatter her with my silver tongue,
but it is impossible for me to lie.
And now, a high born comes, hair blacker
than obsidian, skin white as starlight,
some say, snow.
Stephen Bone‘s work has appeared in various journals including Smiths Knoll, The Interpreter’s House, The Rialto and in online magazines such as Ink, Sweat & Tears, Snakeskin, The Lake. His first collection In The Cinema was published by Playdead Press in 2014.