(the tale of circe)

pervert, they call me
bewitching those
who come to me
fingers pointing
accusations
like hailstones
on my garden path

the women
they say it
because they're envious
of my power
the way i can snap
and have a man
crawling
at my feet

the men
say it
because they're afraid
i smell their fear
and their arousal
when they first
pull into
my driveway

no matter

i do what i do
because i love it
and because they need it

i taste their urgency
when we first exchange names
when our eyes
first make contact

his eyes
always drop
first

i am the alpha
in this arrangement

they-
the pet

they long for the leash
the bowl
the collar
and a place
at my feet

panting
drooling
what can i say?
men are animals

at least the ones
who make it to my lair
understand this
and submit to it

it is a delicate art
creating animals
from men
but they all have one
within

the beast needing to be caged
to be tamed

some are pigs
with a need
to be looked down upon
a need to be dirty
filthy
and debased

others, puppies
wanting to please
to fetch my slippers
and play ball

still others
inside are horses
whinnying
pawing at the dirt
eager to pull my chariot

the women come too
show ponies
kittens with their yarn
playful
and lovely
at last made comfortable
in their skin

i've had them all
dear creatures

they call me wicked
but i allow these people
a chance
to be wild again
to feel free

and who could fault me for that?

yes
it's a delicate art
and one
i shall be enjoying
for many years
to come

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