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