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.

One thought on “Bury Me With the Pharaohs on the Banks of Nile

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