WWJD

The poet, who draws his inspiration

from the beauty of living

in the natural, tactile world,

lies alone in bed after dinner

and a walk beneath the stars

with the poetess, and begins,

– a poet’s imperitive! –

imagining the landscape

of her body, but stops

at the simple gold cross,

an arrow pointing the way

to the line where her breasts meet,

and he realizes it would surely

take an almightly god

to forgive his sins.