You stood there, Blooming
from a Ming Dynasty vase,
setting on the solid column,
curving in the most appealing Architecture
topped with such a vivid crown
that I loose a jerk
and the hairs split my skin to attention,
where the ornate vase rises
in the most gentle arch of desire,
climbing up until it is unbearable:
there the greatest bloom
of orchids and dasies
exploding petals down your back.
I thought I had died,
that I might have been wrong about god,
that I was gifted
with the sight of such beauty
that no sadness could befall me
for all existence.
And then you turned
and at once I was sure you were god;
so I died right there.
You said, “Are you trying to seduce me?”
and I knew more perfectly than love
that my God was as mad as I.
screaming at low volumes
