Alabaster cinched in ebony velvet
A golden comb glitters, worked to match jeweled straps
Ever patient unruffled she waits
Delicate carmine nostrils and lips
Never flare or curl
But she’s been holding that fan for hours and she
Leans on her free hand, fingers stretched over the hidden edge
Wrist slightly twisted

Leave your friends a moment
Trace your fingers lightly through her silken velvet as you
Pass your hand across her bodice
Encircle her waist
She wears your ring after all and this little
Pleasure from you brings
Rose petals and porcelain together upon her
Cheek and precious breast

Leave your friends a moment
She’s tired
Alabaster can grow so cold