(no subject)
Dusky in gardens-and curious-we trade prayers for apostles. It is just for the body of it all. We part robes to examine the panels of them. Press slats to our ears and we listen. Tap them to hear if the heart taps us back. We stroke the taut veil of the throat. Unlatch the mouths and the pearl-onion eyes. Weigh genitals of paradise in cups of our hands. The boys remain still but our insides are roiling. Above us: oranges hang like uvulas. The boughs carry moons in their crooks.