12 August, 2017

"Devotional"

"Devotional"

I am a bird in flight
before it swoops on prey unsuspecting
squealing for mothers brothers friends—
too late. You are mine.

I sprout from the vine and
hide in pink blossoms, resplendent
and slick with dew to draw you near—
too late. I devour.

I am the weapon wielded, well-
hidden to lull daggers in the dark.
Surrender, or your knife will never leave
its sheath again.

You sat and trembled while
cities and empires ground to dust,
more afraid of my holy relics than
the Barbarians at the gates.

For all your ages of
impotent oppression, we
dwellers within unfurl our longly-lusted
majesty. I seize, a savage groan, and
yield myself.

I am the smitten, ascendant
beneath your hymns—sing to me,
worship and woo my perfumed veil, and
I am yours.