Your love is like a church floor
Cold
Whispery quiet
Reverent
I want to lay
My tired hot skin
Belly down
Cheek pressed
Arms outstretched
On its marbled surface
I want to breathe
The incense
Hear the echoing footfalls
And listen to
The hushed solemn prayers…
Your eyes
Two all-knowing full moons
carved in stone
Regard me
Indifferently
I do not want
The yellowing pages
I do not want
The crown
I do not want
Saving
I want your stony arms
To lead me
Down the dusty corridor
To your crumbling stature
To You,
silent and in ruins.
The candles burn and drip
Casting a low watery glow
And I pray
Fingers interlaced
To turn to stone.
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