In my court we do things differently
no dark and light fae queens
fighting on a marble chessboard
but a coalesced (un)seelie underbelly
gritty and gray as a whetstone.
Here the fungi are our friends
until they become the last mouths
our bodies feel before the soul detaches.
Here we cut our feet dancing
on broken hearts and snail shells
and wipe off the blood on mossy mats come dawn.
Creatures lie here under oath and underbrush
in my court.