against the moon rays
we drank rose milk,
burned the petals beside
sandalwood and benzoin.
we wondered
how anything could be
as magnificent as this moment?

I plucked rangoon creepers
they did not slip through my
fingers into dust
like the crepe myrtles. at your feet
I laid bengal trumpets and
lavender; pink oleander,
between your toes.
smoldering agarbatti
wafted over your eyes
everything cedar smoke and fire -
no burnt offering
could smell as sweet.