could i persuade you,
nobilissima,
to be my sovereign. 

could i coax you to be
master of me.

could i soothe your wounds

could i favour you
with wild prostrations,
with ostentatious genuflexions.

could i dare to weep like jesus
returning woman's favour,

lavishing a cataract of tears
onto her weary feet

and blessing her peccant flesh.

mortal goddess,
vulnerable monarch,

could you be my beatrice,
my sweatdrenched stella,
star and consolatrix of the sonnets.

for you are salt and splendour,

you are rage and restoration,
you are wonder of the world.