Lata enters and nerve-ends hum
like the prick-pin creep of beetles at my nape.
I would drape each curve and cleft of her
with Morpho wings, scarab-deck her hands and feet,
and scatter her hair with glow-worms.
I would have termites build a shrine to her
in sand and spit for mantises to pray at,
while dragonflies carve her image from the air,
and the cicadas scream her praises.
