Black cat for top hat and red rose as cape clasp. She with a closet full of fedoras and masks. Feathers so blue they whisper taste this , bitter hex to transfix her nemesis, newly elected. President sabotaging all. She dishes, instead, saucy stew. Chocolate and cheese and reproductive rights. Yet, her hidden apple will carry portent message to the man. She is sure as Annie Oakley seated down front as witness, carrying her father’s rifle, as the Queen totes her own talisman. Staffs sturdy in both their right hands. For all the bright belles will be knighted. At this women’s fete, the Queen is confident, buoyant beneath her watery dress. Knees splayed, feet planted. Diana the Huntress is among them, and Diana the Princess risen from repose, running backwards through that diamond cut tunnel. As the Queen’s regal placement in this deck beholds, she grips a sunflower at the stem bright as Marilyn with her sultry face on joining the circle while Janis per