Idolatry

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Her lips have a way:

Of inviting religious devotion,

Of begging me to fall to my knees

In prayer,

To stare up into the dark eyes

Of a contemptuous God.

I swear, I’m not religious

But for her sin I consume.

Let her feed me bread of her flesh

And gulp wine from her lips.

I request that she submerge me

In her deadly fate – exchange for a

Moment

To revel beneath her

Glory.

Her twisted grin invites –

Enchants – the last morsel of my soul.

And I beg,

I beg for redemption.

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