On an alabaster catafalque
I saw you laid out
with the starched drapery folds
with resin of incense
saw you
stretched out
princess
of my dreamiest dream.
From the stained glass windows
a flowering
of vestal lights bursts
and plays upon your cheeks.
Your feet worn out
by the kiss of lips wafted away
with withered centuries’ leaves.
Had the hot dust
my fingers removed
been radio-active.
Had I the cycle-inducing power of the moon
that compels the ocean tides
to swell and ebb.
Had I the power
to eke tears
out of granite,
even just one divine tear.
I would have touched you with my spittle
and, down the virgin swathes would come.
I would enjoin you:
talitha qumi,
and I would see your marble breast
slowly heave up
to its fullness.
Perhaps an illusion …
Asps powerless
against your sleek breast …
O apple of paradise.