Redeemer
I.
I'm often accused of
having a "Jesus complex,"
full of sighs for bearded men,
chestnut locks, sharp cheeks--
these men, they glow,
they speak Brueghel
and Eakins,
feast on women like
honey-dipped figs.
Perhaps it's Catholic guilt,
times when I didn't
stand arrow straight
on knees staring
up into waxen eyes
protesting a sip
from his chalice.
II.
He stands before me,
hands dangling from suspended
wrists to the sides.
He's giving me the look,
an honorable surrender,
no quivering lip,
round chin juts forward
undoubled.
His light's all but blown out--
dim would insult
years of arm swaddled knowledge
over gathered.
Here I am,
lusting after the martyr,
who's feet
I'd previously mourned
clean.
"Behold me," he says.
I.
I'm often accused of
having a "Jesus complex,"
full of sighs for bearded men,
chestnut locks, sharp cheeks--
these men, they glow,
they speak Brueghel
and Eakins,
feast on women like
honey-dipped figs.
Perhaps it's Catholic guilt,
times when I didn't
stand arrow straight
on knees staring
up into waxen eyes
protesting a sip
from his chalice.
II.
He stands before me,
hands dangling from suspended
wrists to the sides.
He's giving me the look,
an honorable surrender,
no quivering lip,
round chin juts forward
undoubled.
His light's all but blown out--
dim would insult
years of arm swaddled knowledge
over gathered.
Here I am,
lusting after the martyr,
who's feet
I'd previously mourned
clean.
"Behold me," he says.
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