For Anne Boleyn

My velvet skin
turns gold to blush.
He waits till just before
my flesh turns sour, falls,
reveals the stone beneath.

He rips each layer with his teeth
and I can feel him tasting me,
licking round the edges
so he doesn’t waste a drop.

Once I couldn’t wait for this;
I had him where he has me.
Now it’s started,
I cannot let it stop.

He’s peeling me,
stripping me of skin.
I can only watch
all that promise,
all my power,
running down his chin.



Gill Lambert is a poet and teacher from Yorkshire. She has been widely published online and in print and her first collection was published by Yaffle this year. Gill’s website is