I remember when I was Jesus.
You made yourself naked for me,
and we fucked
under one window.
And there was a tree
And above that something
climbing from the sky.
You laughed when I said, I loved you,
Turned your face like the moon,
betraying only, it seemed, shyness.
I thought of the loaf of bread
swimming in the oven glass,
and I saw as your mouth puffed
with its body, torn
with your pure, white teeth.
I listened as you walked below,
from the cold cellar to the furnace room,
to the garage, down the street
to the bus stop, then to the sound
of the empty street the bus left behind.
Forgive me. it was me
who groped your breasts,
as if stabbing you.
And, on your cool desert skin,
I may have wept.

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