I trade my feathers for a ruff of silk,
swap skirts for codpiece, strings of pearls for gloves.
I am no longer beardless as a boy;
my voice is crack'd within the ring and sings
sweet music in a lower register.
I'll have no suitors lined up out the door
with hunting caps and wedding bonds in hand--
nay, I myself will run these princes ragged
until they yield to me. Diana's bow
pulls taut my body, trembles in my hips,
my narrow barren virgin maiden hips,
my woman's manhood. I forget my sex,
and choirs of angels sing me to release.
We will have no more marriages. Not one.