I am tallow, tapered, temporary.
My meagre corona of light
Throws a flickering shadow show of sin.
Untrimmed, I gutter, and the night seeps in
Feeling its way with stealthy fingers
To wrap around your heart.
Stained, unclean, muttering confessions -
Your lips, your mind, your soul
Are turned as black as ink.
I watch you rise, Lady,
See you scratch and scrub your hands,
Till the water runs incarnadine.
I am the slender rush that keeps
Those murdering ministers at bay.
I will not last the night.
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