I am not furnished like a beggar;
therefore to beg will not become me:
my way is to conjure you...
—Rosalind: As You Like It, Epilogue
While I was thinking about God,
she rounded the corner in front of me,
where the round movement of her hips
painted Creation all over my body,
as if my very skin was damp plaster
and DaVinci himself scribed Divinity
over my porous and accepting surface.
This is too heavy a burden for women,
who only also want love, not godhead.
Well, I do not worship you. Only just some,
and that doesn't involve church or anything.
But, please. Let me at least pray to you a bit.