January 20th, 2014

You are an apex predator he says as he sucks on his cigarette. He flicks it away
as I ask what that is. You're the top. You're the best. When I met you you were 
scared and pale and you didn't know what you carried. Now you do. Now you 
know. You will never be the same again. It turned out to be true, what he said,
but not in the way he thought it would. When I walked away from all of that I
walked away also from the lies that wove themselves between and through every
lover's lips. My lips are my own now and they burn with languages I haven't yet
learned to speak. Maybe my spiritual gift is my sexuality I said to myself once as
a joke. That's not funny, He says. It is. Your purity is what you carry and what you
always  have carried. He stills me and writes the word "clean" on my forehead
with a kiss. When I stand before Him I can only ever see his neck and beard and
lips, but never the rest of his face, and the straining in my bones and the burning
at the center of my muscles is the beginning of a fire that will change my limbs
to weapons and my body to a field in which He can sow the love that ever grows.