I like the taste of cayenne pepper, cheap wine in one-gallon jars,
loud music and the way that hearts of strong men wrestle against the knife,
but what I really like is a beautiful woman that I don’t love.
If she is proportioned as in pornography or reality, it is no matter.
It is only important that my emotions are not muddled with my memory,
it is only that the body of this woman can never be confused with my mind.
Have I seen beauty?
Yes, in the unmarried child of India who shames the bride at her own wedding,
the daughter of Florida, living in islands of the sea, who is more lovely than the sun,
and also my eyes have found the foam-born as she plants a garden and sharpens a spear.
One day history named a man Raphael,
and admired the master that transferred
a divine form onto suffocated canvas-
some years later, the world has forgotten his biography.
I am not pious. I resurrect Raphael for a moment
and whisper promises into his ear
as the Christ was once tempted upon a barren mountain.
Primed colors are on canvas, the sky is blue,
her flesh is obscured by the sun.
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