Prepare Me For Death, Woman Poem by Maria Mitea

her skin, cast ointment:
prepare me for death, Woman,
My Darling, you fall
slowly
as a flake fall in my white hands,
do not rush,
come with the torch and let's light the fountains,
release your aroma slowly,
soothing kindles, fire in the silky miter,
darkness is your cure, sweetness,
i will stay with you from the beginning to the end,
pour yourself into the rings of the hungry belly,
and when the fight between the angels happens,
i will give you the mana from heaven,
only in Her Skin do angels speak,
only She knows the language of angels.