Only the Kunti knows the fathers
Of her many children wandering the
District trails. She doesn’t play favorites
And this law informs a Fool. Her love is
Imprecise and relaxed, and always
Expectant. She waits for no one to give
Her permission! She comes and goes

Always at will, always unattached
To all but the royal purple robe she wears
For occasions of burnished splendor.
Ageless in her magnetism she is the
Beloved of many and object of desire,
The point of confusion for some but this
Is her gift: to assist in experience

She is not responsible to the Fool
Rather it is the opposite. The Fool must
Make homage to her by ritual tender
Prolifically expressed on the dais
Of her hive, her web, her nest so that
Her peaches may be enjoyed by
All who pay for passage into lust.

Copyright © 2011 Amanda Morris Johnson

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