by Nick Gisburne
The Queen must breed. Today she chooses you,
An honour and a privilege. Rejoice.
Whatever her perversions, follow through.
Remember, this was duty, never choice.
Tonight you will be neutered by her blade,
The relevant appendages removed.
Consumed before their nutrients degrade,
Her mood will be appreciably improved.
The ritual unfurling of the wings
Precedes a crucial, murderous embrace.
Be ready with a smile, and if she sings,
Though tempted, do not to vomit in her face.
Whatever else you do, if something flaps,
Be certain, if you lick it, you’ll collapse.
