Oh I can lift
the silken harem
from my chest and drape
them on you: Kali
first, then Magdalene,
Diana. Your own
divinely resonant bones
invite adornment, even
perpetrate it. Yet
veiled beneath unrivaled raiment
wells an inscrutable smoke
entirely mortal.
And holding you, the flavor
of it fills the meat of me,
and kissing — these —
are not Diana's lips.