My Mouth Is Dry But Yours Never Runs Out of Glass-Shared Words

My poem has nothing to do with Game of Thrones or with Cersei Lannister other than, as an afterthought, her character seemed to meld nicely with the words/thought.

You stood there with your sorrow in a suitcase;

Another idle threat, we knew you wouldn’t run away.

Streamers flared when you claimed your third king;

Trumpets waned when he marched off that same day.

Strained and purple veins splayed across your face,

As though some child laid a crayon to paper-thin skin,

And grotesque words stuck to your Vaseline lips in disgrace

When he clipped your wings to Bach’s minor keys.

©My Mouth Is Dry But Yours Never Runs Out of Glass-Shared Words

Mimi Wolske

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