I call the Knights to my boudoir
And the way we are so misunderstood
they write religious texts about us
Senseless the way we fuck
Profits like pornography, airing
our affairs like a gossip magazine
Insider’s lips sealed shut
Advances range from genuine to artificial
Just to second their fantasy
then leave them in the concourse
to ambiguous discourse
but never in my courtyard
For all the times I’ve built an army
the only difference—
They’re all against me
PaleDeerPoetry 