A Messenger with a Message

I sleep,
chest rising
and falling,
sheets rumpled
from my tossing
and my turning;
I have lost consciousness
and entertain angels
adept at pantomime--

They are golden-eyed
and golden-skinned,
with golden wings,
and they sing
instead of speak,
and they are handsome
and heavenly
in their naked glory--

They sing,
as mermaids sang
to brave Ulysses
long ago,
but I cannot quite hear
their words;
their voices are music
to my ears--

They ascend,
and I follow,
although I have no wings,
and the clouds above
become the clouds below,
wonderful and strange
and new, seen this way,
from the perspective
of the heavenly hosts--

There are human souls here, too,
male, without penises
or testicles,
and female, without vaginas
or ovaries;
they are naked, but not Nude;
they have no wings,
and they are not golden-eyed
or golden-skinned,
but they are so beautiful
that their loveliness pains my heart,
and I cry--

In heaven, I understand,
there is no sex;
there is only Ecstasy,
every moment of eternity,
and, I understand,
I am free to stay here, endlessly,
or to return to my self,
slumbering in my bed, alone
in the dark, deep winter's night--

I am naked, but I have both
penis and testicles;
I lack vagina and ovaries,
but breasts are pointedly present,
and, seeing my duality,
I elect to return home, and fall,
like Lucifer, from heaven,
from the bliss of Eternal ecstasy,
into uncertain and irregular
orgasmic happiness,
a messenger with a message
that few may wish to hear--

I wake, weeping,
bloodstains on my pillow,
an ache in my frantic heart,
my semen, thick and warm,
on my tender rosebud breasts--