A/N: Believe it or not, this came out of writer's block. XD


I want you to worship this love
I write poems about—
I tore it out of a virgin womb
just for you,
and I bear to you now, naked,
shivering in the nervousness of flesh
exposed to a cold world.

It will suck on the breasts
of prostitutes
and kiss the lips of small-town drunks
with their whiskey-tipped breath
and hollow eyes,
and I will touch my fingers
to its precious little mouth
and feel the warm saliva
bathe my skin.

I want you to put your ear
to its unguarded chest and listen
to the murmur
of its shriveled heart,
pulsating—the warm, lively core.
A tempest, the Red Sea succumbing to Moses.
The fall of the tower of Babel.
Watch the tidal waves thrash the sand
when it raises its fist.

God will crumble at your feet.
You will snatch up the pieces
and rebuild him—
in your image, not his.
And you will be lost, crawling on your belly,
searching blindly
for my hand.
And I will reach for you.

I will reach for you.