Bury Me With the Pharaohs on the Banks of Nile

You, you call yourself a woman,
passing through the wither of time,
the silver of the moon, the glaze of the sun.
You get me asking for more, and more wine.

You carve words like a sculpture
and find gold in a dark mine.
You feed on my soul like a vulture –
rest your heart at a distant shrine.

Sharpen your knife not,
for your words are enough
to corrode me and rot
and make me ragged and rough.

You can kiss me and see me bloom;
touch me and see me smile.
Or furnish with your hands the much dear tomb,
and bury me with the Pharaohs on the banks of Nile.

1 thought on “Bury Me With the Pharaohs on the Banks of Nile”

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