Anne IV

Anne,
my mother dear,
I have stolen a kiss from one of the boys
                                             tending to your altar
and we not await your blessing to be wed.
		            Of course you know
			I will want you to give me away.
I have found my love at the base of your blazing pyre,
bearing gifts in your memory, 
		  gifts of my words,
		  gifts of my sweat,
		  gifts of the tears I will never be able to shed.
Along comes the rain,
			 but she is a fickle mistress
and will always leave so much uncleansed.
        She will roll around on your rough tongue,
                                down your sharp cheek,
                           and onto your dry chest.
  She has yet to put out your light,
			    you should be glad to know.
My meager flame is the one in question.
My tender wick stands to be doused.
  Protect me from this storm,
  for I am giving all that I am worth.
  Materialize before my chameleon eyes.
	I will wear you as a protective rune around my neck.
	I will fold you into fifths and place you in my pocket.
	I will tear through your covering and feed on your meat.
It is time for me, I do believe, to venture on
and I need you here at my side.
As you once gained health from my umbilical,
I will now find strength in your milk. 
  	





  


    

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