My Mantra (Cravings) Poem by Luce Darwin

Your syllables are my mantra,
two most repeated intonations,
a rise and a light fall,
that most resonant, sonorous sound.
Your syllables are my whispers
while lying on the lawn,
and I am your wasted, impetuous sundial,
pulling your stars towards my sun,
my frenzied, but devout sun,
with its insidious glow,
though you never take notice to my
goings-on,
my mantras,
or my slothful cravings.
I have lost all decorum,
all reticence,
but I am not a libertine.
I am your manic zealot,
your patron saint.