To The Virgin Of The West
Can I just worship your hand
Like the Blessed Sacrament is worshipped
By tired souls that sell their bodies in the night?
Can I just look on you
Like a ragged man from the pew?
Unwelcomed by the Spanish friar
Because of my ghastly sight.
Forgive me, your distant lover
For I can only look on thee
And would rather not love
Than share my poisonous intimacy
Your bud is strong, ere it be blown
My scent brings death to your beauty
My foul hand defiles everything it touches
My loin is an arid desert to your fountain of youth
My skin? Shameful leprosy.
This flesh constitutes infernal passions
That seek ungodly revenge
I shall wait till our souls leave our bodies
And in death's perpetual paradise
Stripped of earthly ballasts
My soul to your soul entwines.