They call her
Candelabra Queen
with wax in her hair
a crow,
sleeping in her mane
to light each
fire that goes
out

fingers more
delicate than lace
a needle to
go through
and mend
the puddle
of a heart

Candelabra Queen
who sits for
centuries, with
cat skulls on her
throne of
years forgotten
years where
statues had viridian
eyes and zircon
was taken
from the grave

Where sorrow and
desire meet
to find the
common ground
on which
we forget
we're walking

I'm walking in the same world as you
Where is your understanding
and your shame?