Joyous Gard

The woodsmoke girl in yellow

Changes her mind

At least a hundred thousand times

Her name is Sylvia (head in the oven)

No, Margaret (cold corpsy lips)

No, just the letter H

With a’s and l’s and y’s

Stumbling after

Cold in a sweater 5 times her size

(I know it’s the wind)

The animal arms hang down to her

Smooth knees, like chocolate

My name is whispered in a heated moment

Then never heard again

She kisses my neck

Smiles at me from across the granite tabletop

Shares her warm thighs

Then turns into Joyous Gard

With the wind choking on her high walls

And while the nobles converse

In hushed tones in the great hall

And smirk at the whistles and

Rich falsetto yells of the wind (trying to get in)

Lancelot leans over to Guinevere

And effortlessly places his cold lips on her warm, malleable cheek.