4. Love

Played around with rhyming words though it wasn’t my first intention but why not.

Your body is a temple and i,
a desperate sinner crawling into your shrine

i kneel before the tenderness of your flushed breasts
and the velvet lips mumbling prayers, staining my chest

you love the way i lie, and i lie
beneath the curves and your whispering eye,

you moan deep under your breath to my tongue-slips
and my most meaningless chatters—

confessions and dark matters,
darker than the darkest of night,
our bodies ripple against the dim red lights—rhythmic like a religious chant,
divine like god, blessed by a devil that settled inside our hearts—i twist before your heaved moans;
you are my exorcist, washed out of sin and carved from roman stone.

you play my silent flute and i am a krishna at your feet.

craving the sweat trickling down your frame,
i gather the drips with my trembling lip like holy water
cleansing me from fear and shame
and when the hymn is over i lay you on my torso
like the holy book, one last prayer
for my atheism to be shattered and shook.

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~ by Núr on April 5, 2017.

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