Touched, By The Mannequins

Naked be my confessor  
touched, by the mannequins,  
whispering my name,  
echoing the ambrosia  
between the greens  
and wings of the acorn,  
in an ascending horizon of blue  
like a necklace on a string  
among the friars and nuns,  
and life's resurrection,    
touched, by the mannequins.