Fatuous

must be this damned cold
or whatever it is that's
laying me low

like two seasoned warriors
they argue over hopeless battles
where dirty deeds
were done

in mad queenly delusions
I throw my royal sash
to one I believe
the victor

in rhapsodies of
senseless lust,
over this hero
I roll my eyes,

yes, I throw my sash,
and it lies, wanly
on the ground,
unnoticed.