how did you get to be so
gallant, amorous? can i trust
in miraculous healing? can a knight's zeal
feel worthy moments, birthed from virgin thought?
can i rise up, back knotted with lofty imagery,
the mystery of massaged egos relaxed in open
palms, balm on skin, thinly spread, held like
treasured diamonds, small, discreet, neatly
placed to rub in muscle tone acute, demonstrative;
there is a never refuted monstrous magnitude
contained in earthquakes which name
themselves on top of broken earth,
ready to tame.
i would hang myself on a cross,
die for you, bore saturday night
like a child resurrected.
i have inspected miracles of fate
and faith has often been duly dismissed.
but i insist you listen
to my whisper.
i walk up revelries
of honor, each riser
stepped by muddied boots
to meet you on