against the grass with your hands
thrown wide like some
over-beneficient god eager to draw
the whole world into their hand
some young venus waiting
for the earth to come to her
i can see your ribs arching
the roof of some ancient cathedral
with your skin shaping the light
like stained glass coating the grass
with shadows of your own grace
and i am struck silent
drawn to worship with a hungry sort of awe
to sit cautiously near you
breathing deeply hoping to slip away
with something of your essence hidden in my skin
like a secret prophecy stolen from the fumes
silence is your oracle
and shadow your avatar
i am nothing but your acolyte
as you stretch full your beauty against the ground
and all of nature becomes your backdrop
and nothing of its own
i too want to be yours
and nothing of my own
so i'll write my quiet prayers
leave them carefully on the stone altar
let the zephyr your servant
carry them away and towards what you are
against the blaze of sunset
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