FROM A MAN DYING ON A CROSS

The pains in my palms are threads of sightless fire

Drawn like fiery veins through blackened marble walls,

Crashing with a dull roar

To the ends of the earth.

Winey peace....

My sick blood purrs.

Milky bosoms float through red hair,

Gaunt faces and sick eyes

Beside her face.

I debauch them with my forgiveness.

Only her, I cannot forgive.

Moonlight trembles as the silk of her garment,

Perfumed silk.

The cross makes a long harsh shadow

Rigid on the sand.

Her white feet stir across the shadow.