My resurrection is a sensitive process
Like a bee-line of women, as symbols
Of the remuneration of my destiny
I want their food, their shelter
Their fragrance, not as significant
Of what I might hoard, or plunder
But of a banquet of trade
That I might have something enriching to offer
O blasphemy is love’s ecstatic fire
I am reckless with the reality of it
Smoothing and apple-green
What in their skin could possibly redeem me?
It’s an illusion of the material world
I’m sure of it, flowers on the water
Lotus bud in the air, I stare past mirrors & windows
Back to nature, back to God
I am clothed in sensual clothing
My resurrection is a taboo exploration
Like a woman’s body that has never been fondled properly.
Photography Credits: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Youthful-heart-373919675
Wuji Seshat 
I like these sad lines:
“An invisible palm at the edge of space”
“Life is a foreign song today”
then your redemption on the next poem:
“Back to nature, back to God”
Thanks! Yes that is my favorite part too xD
My resurrection is a taboo exploration
Like a woman’s body that has never been fondled properly.-exquisitely stated.