Button after button
undone. Michelangelo’s
knees, soaked on
the dollar-booth floor
as another trick comes
to pay his respect
to his genius. Coarse
hair and spit play drama
on a sliding skin Fresco–
the hand of God touching
man. Mike can’t remember
when her first learned his latin
(fellatio) or when he decided
to save creation for last. On his
back and scaffolded, bent
over and raffled by the crowd
for his art, sweaty dollar
one by one. Each time time’s
up, all goes dark. He
shuts his eyes and re-creates
perspective; his arms, long
enough to reach around
his masterpiece, scrapping
his wedding ring against
the crust of plexiglass, reaching
another dollar into the slot. And
let there be light or anything
beyond the musk of the dark.