Stare up to me,
Child of my sight, beneath me.
For I love, and have loved, a woman so frail in her plight.
And among all the battles to fight,
I have stopped here
To see beneath me, a woman who stares up to my light.
But, I make myself humble
Even in my radiance.
Her kisses have been a wondrous consumption
Of decadent delights.
Enough to tear away all frights
From the singing turmoils haunting me in the night.
Her lips, a smoothed red
Over silky, bulbous flesh.
Likes stripes of molten ruby
Over the contrasting ivory skin.
I am not God,
Because, I’ve nothing to show for Kingdoms.
I am humble,
A man made worthy
For a woman vowed to be in my arms,
Until the moon showers its tears
Upon my throat,
Upon her delicate eyes.
Of all her sorry sighs
During years, pledged to grief’s embrace.
I have sworn myself to her loss,
And vowed to clean it from her heart.
What else to do,
Else to make her brand new?