Honeyed Milk

Fingertips dipped into a jar of maternal caress, these supple hands carefully pour the oil on me laminating the spinal spurs barbing my fleshly peduncle Christ’s lips embrace this weathered stump the once fabled tree of life, withered and wallowed, now gives birth to burgeoning seedlings poised to crack open the ceramic moonless expanse Lo! How they burst forth from the oily balm of fatherly embrace, their shattered casings flung across the forest floor, An eruption of Pompeian magnitude, thirty-three Olympian branches drenched in honeyed milk heave their titanic might from the middle garden towards the kingdom