she is neither Monk nor nun
still I am drawn to
her innocence
she living up to
Blake's vision
of what innocence should be
never perfect always tested
potent in its power to seduce
wicked people like me
I dress her as a nun in my mind
The veil, The gown,
the rosary beads
hanging around her
neck
Yet I always strip these from her again
leaving her naked
and vulnerable the way Eve must have looked
when I ache for her to be the other Mary
Christ knew and
forgave
The sinner who is the face of sin
who lives life on the
edge
a balancing act to keep from falling
I paint her as a virgin in the way she is
knowing as the Bible
says
then still unmolested
shimmering in the Twilight
the way the first
stars do
always intensely
attractive
always scalding even
at a distance
always beyond reach
if not saintly then saint like
what we need to
violate
over and over again
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