When an angel or a god descends,
you don’t ask why.
You don’t question stormwinds,
thunder, lightning.
My knees buckled when I saw him.
My mouth and throat went dry,
a fever scorched my skin.
I wanted to hide.
I wanted to see and be seen.
I asked him where he lived—
he cursed and knocked me down.
When I came to, he was gone.
In this encounter, who lost? Who won?
He got the thrill of action, macho—
But I bear deep in every vein
a hidden flame, the fire of Michelangelo.
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