Your body is like the Taj Mahal. All edges and soft curves. Those domes that reach like purple plums to the sky. It’s shifting and always changing color with the light. Sometimes brilliant bright white with the moon. Day time is like the yellows of sunshine. When a storm comes it’s grey and deep blue and the clouds rest in your breasts. The garden is expansive, wide and water in some places. Like your mouth and your sex. Little bits of flower everywhere and the trimmed edges of shaped hedges. Inside it gets even deeper. Deeper even than you could ever imagine when you’re standing outside admiring. The walls are the color of walnuts and when you look into the windows of your mind it’s the stained glass of sanctuary. People come to take pictures. You are that beautiful. They leave offerings at your doorstep. Flowers and incense and prayers. The longing for you to let them walk up the stairs.