Your head whipped back in forbidden ecstasies,
your hands caressing where he touched you,
didn’t you notice his gift?
He left you a halo of blood in exchange
for your innocence.
Your world is contaminated now,
gray, neither the black of sin,
nor the purity of white.
And yet you writhe in the memories he gave you,
not caring how others will see you.
Will they see your defiled innocence?
Will they see a whore, or a miracle?
Do you care?
I didn’t think so.
What was it like, his touch?
Was it gentle as silk,
or did he look at you with heaven’s thunder
in his eyes?
And when he was through with your body
did you beg for more?
Or did the lamb bow down to the lion
like a good girl should?
I didn’t think so.
They say liquid fire from the angels’ wings
will consume those not worthy.
Were you worthy?
I didn’t think so.
You stand there in martyred silence,
seducing me with your memories,
and you still haven’t told me:
what was it like, to be touched by the Almighty?