The-Feminine

I eat dreams and spit out pearls, Sing fires to sleep and legends awake, And I always take my time. The palm trees grow tall, but it is the wind Who shapes their trunks and leaves; And I believe women are just so With men. It only takes a rhyme, a whisper, and A sign that Shaheryar’s eyes are closed to The world’s mad whims, for me to feed him The sweet, buttercream cake of magic And possible impossibilities.  For he, The prince without a heart, needs to see That I need him as much as he needs me.