Tuesday, July 10, 2012

infidel (reading).

hear it here. 


you have built entire shrines to his mouth,
living in a cathedral shaped of all his harsh 
words and discarded teeth.

stop writing psalms about his tongue,
prostrating yourself at his lips;
he does not understand 
you are hanging your moon on him.
this is sacrilege. 
neither he nor your god deserve that.

his jaw, you've made into a hollowed out ship
you ride home from loneliness.
on the sea of your insecurities,
he is like sand, scarce.
how many pilgrimages have you
made into his body?
how often have you offered 
your burnt  hopes to the holy space
inside his throat?

the way you breathe his name
is blasphemy.

i know you think burrowing yourself
into the inside of his cheek each 
night is paradise.

but when he swallows you whole,
the false gods you found in his 
wisdom teeth
will only prove wood
to the fire in his belly.