[hp] sonnet
You find him here, your pale and pointed boy;
The years of emnity create their bind.
You left. You'd said you thought he could destroy
your will; also, you know you would not mind.
New robes - grey silk. You found others who'll kneel
for you, who'll break for you and supplicate
no questions asked. Wincing, you gave no real
concession, only thought of eyes like slate.
Your gesture of contriteness: upturned palms,
dilated eyes. His fingers curl and sigh
and touch your brow and now you're breathing calm.
You're pricked by pins. It feels like his reply.
He licked small beads of slick red blood and looked
triumphant. Your eyes closed. That's all it took.