I am a guest in this palace of yours.
You washed my body with
artesian waters, served chilled wine
from that grove of cherry trees high on the hill.
You warmed me by your fire,
Placed ruby coal lips on my naked chest,
ignited the slumbering passion hiding
beneath the blood.
Like lava made molten again, my chest
yielded when your jeweled fingers
offered to sooth the weight imposed by
my correctness. You led me by the hand
to the cellar and with each descending step
flooded me with memories of swimming in the
pure water there:
naked and together and alone.
You took your stone chalice where only
holy wine is poured and
placed the rim at my lips and
whet my appetite for the drunkenness to follow.
And I laughed with you and fell
constantly in delight towards the aroma
in your beautiful eyes.

And now, I am lost here inside
with no way out, nor do I want one.
Your touch-
too wonderful to leave
too terrible to endure
far too ancient to replace-
holds me fast,
holds me helpless
holds me alive in a way
I do not know how to live.