Dear God, your fires and dance and fall down your skin like water.
Can you imagine how many people despise you, despite your
Many talents, the glamor of your being? Are you able to
Place any number on it? What can you do with all that hate,
Plant a garden, enough of a thicket of Roman laurels in hopes it
Will all go away? You think of it, and the fire trickles no more
In ease down your fragile yellow body, and you cry for aid
In the rain. Dear God, how the helpless is helpless, and how
The hate hates! You sweat salt and heat and despondencies
Like a ravishing illness, an unnamed plague you have lived in
For years, your eyes pinkened as stained glass, that feminine glare,
That feminine signal, that feminine way of living.
Ignore the more wicked gods; it is quite the standard disposition,
Quite the gold normality! Not many have the inclination to love
That ideal, and it makes you shrivel like noir grapes at the thought.
Why? Falling petals, your psyche hits everything.
So eat that persona of yours, claim it as yours again.
Reignite the flame. Twinkle like the light god and have him
Whisper your name, he was the one who had given it to you.
Make him swallow your mannerisms and womanly breaths,
For o how there is beauty in it and everything you do!
