a fable: a knight (who isn’t a knight)

once, he fought against those fingers
slender, insect-like; more strength
in those misleading knuckles
than they appeared

it had been too late
when he felt the murderous
threads, cold legs of obsidian
closing about his neck;
there concluded his knighthood
for a knight was no longer a knight
the moment his princess was

alone and asleep, caught
in the web of lies
waiting for dawn
waiting for the first
glimpse of light

and though he knew
for the sheer love he had for her
he would die and return again
the hurt he felt each time
-thorned promises of
chivalry denied-
still made his tearless
body contort
and bend

but this
this he defied
defied for the promise of her
embrace, the thunderous
heartbeat that was music
to his ears

and this
this pain he defied
with sheer strength of soul
for the awakening of his
much beloved, who
stared him in the face
with eight of her eyes

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