Delicate Notes

Let me paint you.

My touch brushes yours.

Your paint tastes like blueberries

with delicate notes

of vanilla

and peach.

Your skin smells of coconut oil

and sacrilege.

Incense springs from antiquity,

swinging with the muscles

of an elderly preacher.

Tossing off his lineage

for the often lost words of Rome,

spoken emotionless,

as his ancestors lay subjugated

and weak.

Michael Carney