Your body is my temple. Thighs like stone pews, take communion from your wine red lips, the body and the blood, the taste of you could forgive my sins if I would just confess.
They say you may be the devil, in broad shouldered disguise with arrogance to spare. But the bible says he was an angel once, surely you can save me just as well.
I come to you, on bended knee, kiss your knuckles like rosary beads, hold them against my throat like I’m praying.
It’s absolution: your hands between my legs. The only heaven I need.
FILL: SWAG 2016
Poem, 17 lines
Your body
is my temple.
Thighs like stone pews, take
communion from your wine red lips,
the body and the blood,
the taste of you could forgive my sins
if I would just confess.
They say you may be the devil,
in broad shouldered disguise
with arrogance to spare.
But the bible says he was an angel once,
surely you can save me just as well.
I come to you, on bended knee,
kiss your knuckles like rosary beads,
hold them against my throat like I’m praying.
It’s absolution: your hands between my legs.
The only heaven I need.