I'm not sure if this poem is finished or not, but I feel like posting something. The title also isn't my favorite, but again, this one is essentially "in the works."
caressing the supple ankles of the lonely
The King lay upon his deathbed, poisoning the delight brought forth from the recent victory on the battlefield. His remaining men had every reason to celebrate, but returned home in conflicted spirits. They were passionate defenders of a beleaguered land and protected it with electric class… but tonight their triumph was accompanied by the possible end of an era.
Each warrior was encouraged to visit the castle and speak brief words of encouragement. His majesty was expected to pass before sunrise.
Formulaic blessings and buckets of cheesy rhymes floated through Dominic’s cranium. He had never met the King but respected him beyond words, beyond vocal capabilities. He had a tendency of freezing up when nervous and was experiencing unknown, terrifying levels of uneasiness. Dominic predicted a complete disaster, which ironically forced him into shedding layer after layer of discomfort. Because of his horribly malnourished expectations he soon supported not a single worry. But of course, Dominic was too ignorant to realize he was wearing a costume crafted from such a placid touch. All he could focus on was the blinding glow of a distant and degrading neon fate. Or so he thought.