#2 of 30 (A sonnet)

Gladly, I raise the earth around her feet
so that each foot falls on a pedestal
and all look up to her countenance, sweet
and cherubic; she is a spectacle
of full royal beauty. Blinking requests
I choose to misinterpret as demands,
she smiles and wonders why do I obsess?
Why do I sculpt her whims into commands?
But I answer not with mere words, I move,
with the pseudo-hubris of a pawn King
conquering one square at a time to prove
that no certificate or diamond ring
rules me. She is the only queen I know,
and I remove my crown to make it so.

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