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Baptism
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Sacraments Soaked through with his quiet, pressing sweat,
I am crushed into myself.
My lungs come through my lips into his and
He breathes in my loathing,
Holding my spleen in his grip.
It is here that I am inundated with the flow of Ourselves,
Here that I find my completion,
Here that I can feel my own trembling self in his shoulder blades.
His angles seep into my recesses and for a moment we nearly fit
Like a puzzle,
Like a crossword,
Like a lyric,
And then it is lost.
The kisses come easy; the secrets do not.
They lie in the crumpled clothes on the floor,
A churning sea of sin and desire.
It is here, in the still, in the detachment,
In the half-lit blinds and fallen posters
And silent bedposts
That I find my rebirth.
I am a goddess as long as he longs to hold me,
And when he does not,
He will never have to know my depravity;
He thinks he has made me whole.
He thinks he has made me complete.
He thinks he has given new life;
I have simply taken his.
