Lost and Weary Prey (A Rebuff of Teylas Ramar)

In one moment, you ceased
your harsh, sinewy smirk
and the twirling of your tendrils
to offer me honest praise.

“Master Ramar,” I plead
into the vented airlock of your heart.
“Dread Lord,” I breathe
as if your lofty throne would answer me.

No. I understand that every fleeting
glance from on high is poisonous.
I, after all, am on another team,
and Selika has declared this:

“No soup for you!”