After I jack off to hardcore gay porn
I always dream a hand, my
mother's, severed from the rest
of her, gripping the red-
handled shears she uses to prune
the bird of paradise down to its stump—
that slow, sun-spotted hand
I love, hovering those stainless steel blades close
to the stalk of my dick—
& this December, visiting home, I find
the Virgin's porcelain hand
(so small it could fit inside an olive's hollow)
resting by the donkey's hoof, a broken
miracle I nearly steal, wanting to make
a necklace I'd never take off,
her tiny cold fingers tapping
my sternum, close to my heart, wherever
I go.
