[Day 45] Holy

 

Your lips cleanse my soul

with each tear they catch;

salty swipe of Your tongue

Nothing is more holy

than the prayers I 

recite into the curve of

Your neck as our 

hips clash together,

my ankles locked around

Your trim waist

Our foreheads press together

a litany woven together

with breath and bodies

I take up the mantle

of

Sacred Whore