Poetry, Writing


merry crisis and
a happy new fear
hell is full
and all the demons are here

kiss the blood off my knuckles
it reminds you of wine
your body is a church
a sanctuary of mine

i map the scars on your skin
i press down on your throat
you speak softly in tongues
through biting kisses i devote

i thought you holy,
i thought you divine
this vessel you carry
yourself, you confine

this church has no roof
its walls groan and shift
the windows are shattered
your body’s a gift

merry crisis and
a happy new fear
heaven is empty
and my love, you, are here

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