'Let the love of harlots be sanctified.' ~unknown woman
When you come to me, realize I behest
no edifice. Love me in a gutter
or not at all. I merely want to rest
my temple on your temple - to utter
“Hosanna” in the shared throat of a split
alley; to awake spread beneath heavens,
frank before your eyes of melted wax, lit
with a tart torridity which leavens
my body as if I were dough submerged
in a puddle of consecrated wine.
I will pour holiness as honey, splurged
on rose hips and sopping clothes: our benign
impurities to dulcify and bless -
I attest we have no sins to confess.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.