Through the dark tunnels of her labyrinth
I trudge, draggind my
sack over the flagstones.
Then I reach her.
She's on her throne, leering, bloated as a leech.
Kneeling, I offer the sack where
I've laid the very last shreds of
my dignity,
'My lady,' I whisper
breathlessly,
'Your dinner.'
writing and photo/artwork by Lisa Falzon.
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