I come before you as she did

before Caesar,

powerful and naked.

Padding around me like a stalking tiger,

flesh and sinews bunching

beneath the seemingly human skin,

you reach out-

not to caress, or simply touch-

but to tear a jagged gash

beneath my breast

and taste my blood.

I hope it is sweet for you.

Now, seated before the audience of mirrors

that only amplify the scars,

symbols of your presence

so generously applied.

Especially that white mottled brand

in the cave at the small of my back

marring the once smooth line-

You have succeeded,

I am ashamed

of my nakedness.

But the line of my neck

is strong and unbent. 

[J.F. Walton]