perception
things appear only as you see them.

he'd never imagined
(a thousand different realities,
and he'd never seen, never known)
that such an ironic Paradise could possibly exist.
it was a universe unfurling, slowly—

a molasses gradual mirage
of slave-draped silks
swathed decadently upon
the gold thrones, gold sheets, gold-encrusted lords—
oh, but the Temple was Her beauty incarnate.
whip-lashes bled into iron-hot brands
of ownership (call it by its name, boy,
lust is but a sin you mortals bear)
and aphrodisia in its fairest form.

it was a travesty, for sure,
but it was the very visage of that ochroid Shangri-la,
a tenuously threaded string upon that loom
of smothered cities, kohl-lined goddesses,
of fate's complacent marquises.
he does not know what three-fold fate
to pray for (to pray against, perhaps,
for all fates are one in the end),
and he is simply Her blessèd pawn.