I cannot hold your gaze; my head bows in shame and submission.
My legs bend under me and I am on the ground. You say to me,
‘Look at me.’
I am frozen and unable to move.
I make the slightest motion to look through the veil of my worship object but you tell me,
‘Look at me with the boldness of your own eyes.’
Your beauty is too much and your glory is too violent for me to behold.
I am not scared. I feel your love like a liquid that pours over my face.
We are in that space for a moment and then, with deliberation, you veil your own face with the blood.
I look up, relieved.