Hungry

I prefer the wind to whisper against my naked flesh,

over the veils and robes that once suffocated me.

I would rather kneel with my thighs

sprawled widely in comfort,

then to sit with my limbs twisted politely together.

I crave the taste of a mans lips over chocolate melting against my own.

I'm no longer bored with small talk, coin or what color of robes you wear.

I enjoy the lick of my hair against my back, loose and wild,

instead of pinned neatly atop my head stabbing into my scalp.

I feel more free in a collar then when

jewels draped my neck.

I envy no one.

I have no regrets

I know my station.

I am a slave.