After All These Hours

And, after all these hours,
these years spent wandering Nod
and calling for idols of bronze
and holding my own hand...
after all of these,
you still would call me Jezebel
and dance with me and kiss my children?
I scarce believe that you can bare to say these.
How naive you are,
searching for silk where only there is leather,
believing in love from a dry and brittle heart.
These years have frozen my lips;
even you can feel the cold.