Madam Exquisite

This was not meant to be a 'feminist' work, although I suppose it that taste. I don't think true, good poetry ever comes as you have intended at first, though.

I'd chosen Belgium over France,

That is where my lover dwelt.
I left my home one night
to wander the empty streets in dance

I thought all I had to do 
was look pretty in the city lights

 

And in one street corner I did fret

I came across an angel

Lit up brightly by a lamp overhead   

He knew it was a role in theatre I sought

“Is that what you want, Madam Exquisite?”

 

In my dignity and pride I pushed him back,

A thunderclap against the silver waste land.

It was a song of conflict, of a man gone mad.

I held a bloodied tongue, but I’d let no one see 

The demons beneath a woman’s ruby lipstick

There was a crack on my porcelain shoes
A second rib caught in the laces of my corset
The angel beaten me, and stolen my dress
Were these the words and doings of a prophet?
From a man, I would expect not any less

Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh 
My Lord, should she be called woman?
My Lord, what did she think the day they met?  
My desire will be for my husband, I will not covet
But he will not rule over me,

Not like a cruel angel 
I had just recently met

Author's Note

It doesn't flow terribly well, but I don't think that's much of an issue.