Idolatrous

I want to bear you on a palanquin
through ancient market squares, where green
and azure tapestries hang walls
between stout bamboo booths and stalls,
whose tables groan with merchandise
with opulence, with gems and spice
and you'll be dressed in bolts of silk
I tied myself, after your bath
a ritual of honeyed milk
you'll soak your skin
luxurious.
I dry you off, I'll polish, buff -
that honeyed milk
is sticky stuff