At the Altar of Dreams


Anita Endrezze

        A Sorrow Candle
These dreams have left me
drunk with sorrow.
I never had enough of you.
licked the salt from your shoulders
or sucked the plums of darkness
between your thighs.

        A Moon Candle
The moon has lost
its angelic symmetry.
I kneel and guide you
to my mouth
which orbits, laps,
around you,
the configuration
of an eclipse:
one body divining
the other.

        The female candle
Sometimes I dream
about a woman lover,
her long breasts flooding
my palms with all the weight
of the secret pools
in her nipples.

        The male candle
They say if you rub amber
with a cloth
it attracts electricity
and feathers
that grow into birds
that will crow the sky back
into the trees'
phallic blood
so that women can hike up
their skirts
and climb
on to their lover's fiery fingers.

        Your candle
Have I released the holy birds
from your bones?
Is your midnight hair fragrant
with spices from Babylonia
or cool as Sami ice?
I would like to grind maize
between our hips,

© 1997 Anita Endrezze

Unpublished (on paper)

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