I dream of the erotic Christ
Whose broken body is paradise
To lay hands on my secret wounds
And weep intimately.
I dream of the oil of his hair
And fragrant air of his dark skin
Imbued with blood and grains of desert sand.
I dream he washed my feet
Where all the disciples meet
But more tender, eager and insistent.
I dream that we would dine
On body-bread and blood-wine
Ecstatic and drunk in some cave surrounded by candles.
I dream his voice shakes and wails; Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? For in no heaven is contained So sweet a pain as the Earth possesses.
🎨/📷 by Paul Gauguin, Christ in the Garden of Olives, 1889