Teresa

after Bernini’s The Ecstasy of St. Teresa

Consider his eyes –

longlocked angel

gazing unto

skin, his soft

smile, how a finger

tugs the robe away,

how her chest

might heave.

Seraphim burn

and cry out –

holy, holy, holy.

She, exposed,

ready for fire,

rapture

in his hands.

She tilts,

agape,

awaiting.

Need he whisper, now,

to her –

be not afraid?