Madonna

Painting by Edvard Munich  
 
 
 
Madonna
 
each morning I get up early  
just to feel the meadow cry  
her tears crushed beneath my feet  
sometimes I cry with her  
though meek are my offerings
 
I offer my breasts as vessels  
as a mother should  
a butterfly studies the freckles upon them  
she's chased away by a honeybee  
but there is no nectar to bleed  
 
I brush my fingers against a surly old tree  
for he has dropped so many of his little chandeliers  
I pick up the thorny brown hives  
and inhale their wet mint  
my lungs coated with the musk of eucalyptus
 
each evening before I retire to his bed  
I linger in the meadow just to feel her cry  
her sun is leaving after another day's work  
the silver haired one slips between the sheets  
though meek are my offerings