Each bead
thumbed in reverence
not with prayer
but with each burning desire
that begins
with your name.
.
Sunday
kneeling
wafer upon my tongue
a prayer in my head
as I imagine your taste.
.
These days
he becomes the starting
and ending words
of my Sunday confessions.
.
No sooner have I confessed
and repented
than he has me on my knees.
Sinning.
Again.
Each defilement
glorious
violent
and dark.
.
Confess to me.
Satisfy your sins
along every silken inch of skin.
My curves
your path
of destruction
of salvation.
Amen.
:
*Another instalment in my Sunday confessions.
©SirenSong1208
Photograph taken from Pinterest