Is it a changed world
Or am I a new man?
Finding her at the bedside-
What'd have been only a dream before-
I was elated and made for her cheeks.
The glossy warmth of her flushed skin
Radiated in the yellow afternoon,
Which I reckoned was the kind of my Childhood naps:
Resurrection is not the erasure-
But the totality of memory
In this new world,  reconfigured around My figure,  the Chosen One,
(The choosing by myself through  self-destruction)
She'd left all her men to lead and follow me
With the maturity that comes with sainthood
The bustle of bodies was heard outside,
Waiting to worship the one they'd failed
Let them wait,  I thought, her beatifically beating body in my arms