Know My Name

As sick as she is, the Rose

entered the Cathedral.  Every step

 

taken with a long, hard,

exacting stare, while she peels off

 

each layer and layer, fiber to fiber,

to the silky petal of skin.  Textiles slip

 

off in succession, while she strides

down the aisle.  Grasping the last

 

bottle in her small world, step, by

lightly, step.  It’s Frankincense.  The bottle

 

seemed to open itself just to find the delicate

follicled flesh.  Anointed in a gift of oil

 

soothing she gifted herself, she climbs naked on the altar

before the Passion depicted on walls.

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