Diosa gitana
Dear ethereal and jaded gypsy, this meek
prayer asks no more of you than that you condense
and condescend for the sake of sharing another
evanescent moment of our parceled time.
Your pearly skin alone is innocent of moral blemish,
yet my eyes infect my mind with a wakeful paralysis
when blessed with a vision of your beauty--
a self-inflicted hazard of my greed for grace;
I'm struck like a lucid nightmare--
one of corporal castigation wrought by
the hands of bloodstained saints in the Middle Ages.
But, your teal eyes evoke a salvific memory
of the peace of prevised waking, of finding
the light of the Southern Cross when the sun has
finally resigned its abrasive radiance to repose
within the embrace of a chivalrous nimbus--
one that consoles the sun in its ecliptic haze;
and therein lies resemblance of your smile.