I pose no danger to worms
As I sleep through sunrise and thunderstorms.
Rising I brush the thorns from my hair,
Put rose petals in my underwear,
Conjure bronze suns that bleed
Around and into the seeds
Of my apples. Cheeks I lightly stain
With apricot from H. Rubinstein.
I anoint each inch of hide;
It glistens as it swiftly glides
Into the cover of my cloak.
I know how the fire is stoked.
Beauty, though ephemeral and vain,
Caused the Baptist’s head to be slain.