(inspired by Caravaggio’s painting)

I want to know your body,

like a Catholic church knows its shadows.

If I could paint,

It would be the same hand

Pooled in the cross-shadow

From a windowpane,

Limp with interest.

If I could paint,

It would be the same cheekbone,

Lifted to parting lips.

But instead of a men

And their debts,

I would add a nightstand,

And on that nightstand

Your bottle of wine would sit

Next to a candle almost melted.

The wick,

In its most exposed moments

Burns brilliant,

Exposes your gaze,

Which is not towards

The redemption of a man,

But to the body of a woman,

And that body would be mine.