Golden crown on a swine who sits upon her majesties throne.
Hear her snorts of pleasured amusement at how I clothe myself.
But I know her secrets, that they spill
One by one by one over
Unbecoming and bursting shouts of whispers,
How she plays like a whore and yet finds herself unenamored by my gender.
And she hates what she fears but within her crowing wants what was lost forever.
I look off to the distant places I have not been and I smile.
For at the very least I am content in that of my choosing.