Declare You As Constant

If I were to scorn you,
it would be blasphemy;
the spirit into which I’ve been born again
allows nothing but surrender

to your holy lips,
your fertile, divine tongue.
A thousand thousand times
I dreamt of your wet mouth on mine.
You sang against my lips,

and I cried aloud and pulled you down,
wrapped my legs about your neck
and let you lift me up.
You held me — a ripe, forbidden fruit —
and devoured me whole.

If I were to turn from you,
from where your songs echoed
against the crescent of my desire,
I would be guilty of something
for which there is no forgiveness,
from which only blood might wash my sins,

and if that,
then only if I were to bleed enough
to sleep forever after.
These vows of mine
declare you as constant,

though we two are changeable
into one or three or more,
as alike and different
as each ocean wave
that caresses the naked shore.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.