A mistress for Lords
throws herself upon their swords
thrusts of lustful nothings with sighs of empty breaths
upon her cast seed to smear ruin on busty breasts
what pretty lips examined by dirty finger tips
although sailors hearts already cold
only she can sink their ships
she wears the marks of pistols
behind either hip
hair of quicksand that rips away your grip
forever lost without ever knowing what love is
what life is
what loss is
though this mistress topples colossus
and could sway the powers in her favor
in a way a lioness stalks her prey
she could turn the very night she hides in
bright as day
but has strayed away too afraid
and thus I cry at this empty grave
for she is the master, but falls as a slave
this mistress for lords without words of her own
once used up and drained will fill this grave
empty and alone

:Roberto Loera