—sometimes translated as wonderworking.
i wonder how it all works inside those ribs,
i imagine them made of a polished gold.
and that heart of yours, inlaid in your chest,
a gem i would keep in my mouth, as the pearl
in a dragon’s jaws. i wonder how it tastes.
in awe i stare at these hands, the palms
that cup water for ablution, the bony fingers
tapering. the wonders begin here, tremors
working down each knob. shining golden
when i touch your chest. blinding. burning—
yes. it is a wonder when i touch you,
the trembling bass under my palms.
the weight of you, the scent.
i close my eyes to ensure this is no vision.
this is miracle. i work the wonder from you.
you work the wonder from me. the room glows—
or we do. pearls scatter. light bounces, photons
like diamond sparks. one ritual left, before
i turn the wonder over and over in my mind.
wrap you back in your velvet. press my mouth
to the spine. the thaumaturge must depart—
but that red-gold remains behind blinking eyes.
By a a khaliq
a a khaliq is a medical student from the midwest. She writes, in the tradition of Kafka, to close her eyes.