Shrines

Shrines


I built my shrines to you in storage rooms,

With mem'ries of the lives we left behind,

Our altars cold, unlit: lost brides, dashed grooms,

Our love was by dark catacombs defined.



You built your shrines to me in restaurants,

New York was Delhi--glitter, twigs, and twine,

Appearing on the menus in pale fonts,

Elephant gods with BYOB Wine.



We built our shrines to us in many rooms,

Exotic rituals of love we planned,

With candles, fire, oils, poetry, and plumes,

Our only wish to yield to love's command.


We've grown old, our rites are quieter now,

We moo low to our sacred Holstein cow.  














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