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Only the Queen of the Night


P O E T R Y


Adrita Zaima


A gentle kiss of moonlight,

A brief brush on the pink of my delicate skin.

Stimulation runs wild, exhilaration spreads through my veins;

And I realise that it’s finally that day of the year.

 

I open myself, one drowsy eye at a time;

My lush, yellow lashes flutter

Inside the cage of the satiny white of my oblong petals,

Framed by my long, carmine sepals.

 

I gently arch backwards on my host,

Embracing the body that has lent me a refuge

From the gloom of the forest floor this year;

And assume my stance — just like a ballerina.

 

The moon shines directly above my visage, and I shine too.

No, I radiate,

With the beauty of a lady in pure white silk,

Wrapped in the jet black veil of the night.

 

This is my night,

The one night of the year when I can emerge from my confines and rule.

My ethereal scent spreads through the forest,

Attracting all the flora and fauna to bask in my majestic but elusive glory.

 

I am the most vivacious creature in this fair of life,

For just this one night.

I want to feel and live and experience the strange beauty of this transient world,

For just this one night.

 

But just as I brace myself

To consummate my wants,

The first rays of the spring sun colour the horizon,

And I softly burn in their tender touch.

 

I wither and withdraw,

I retreat to stay behind my walls for the next twelve moons.

The forest is no longer mine,

For I am only the queen of the night.

 


Zaima is an anaerobically-respiring, bibliophilic bacterium who spends her free time weeping over bad author decisions in YA. Tell her shitty plots are okay at [email protected]

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