The Cleopatras

Poison & Perfume: Women You Can’t Possess

Not a poem about love. Not really.

It’s for women like me—anomalies.

And men who think they can fix us.

Not the good first wife—

the one who blindly builds your dream.

Nor the polished trophy,

crowned but never truly seen.

She’s another breed—

powerful, self-made, lit from within.

Not a beginning. Not an end.

Just a force you reckon with.

Her loyalty can’t be won.

It’s gifted to the chosen—

a Cleopatra draped in silk,

watching—waiting—bare.

A weapon sharp as any sword.

A current you couldn’t escape.

She draws empires to her feet

with affairs that could forge lands.

She answers to no man.

Her queendom, never seized.

She’s sculpture, smoke, and shadow—

a shape you reach for, but never hold.

Not a starter wife.

Not a trophy bitch.

But a different creation—

poison and perfume in one.