Revelation
In your clandestine gaze,
I greet you
The Martyr,
nailed above the marbled altar
I genuflect,
nearly taking a bow
Blood draped like lace against my cheek,
porcelain skin corroded from your provocation
Oh, most splendorous Lord,
teach me civility
with a tilt of my chin and
the wax from your sanctuary lamp
cascading down my torrid tongue
Tell me,
did you hear the organ sound?
The oozes and the creaks,
the laments and the hymns
Look there,
beyond the stained glass
see how the women weep
for I
was not the only one
Let us congregate,
Oh, Gracious Prince,
for your heart is a vast cathedral
with crowded pews of corpses that
you
have denied accountability for
But you still hold the chalice of our blood
Daily Stab of Hunger
I have become your meal
You have a
ripe hunger for pricks at my neck
where your canines can cannibalize me,
swallowing my integrity
and corrupting my bloodstream
My knuckles are bound in cloth
Your salvation requires intimacy,
a shattered notion, a joining of our organs
My handprint on fogged glass is a tourniquet
made of a disfigured portrait
I have tried to sculpt into forgiveness
My abdomen is sealed in your art gallery
Your caress has become a citric delicacy
I cannot deny I have a taste for it,
for our flesh to blur inside of our Church
and to steep our holy water in moonlit blood
My lips are best saved for last,
our tacit appetite
abiding evolving
into the reckoning
we designed
for one another