flesh, like
    a lover's long hard
    finger that you kiss
    traces lines unbroken
    down your lips and chin
    the wax of your neck
    along the dark
    circles that
    tip each
    Lightless, its death
    is cold, but when
    in heat flickers like
    the whispers of a
    man's passion, that
    flicks sharp pools of
    shadow on your navel's
    infant skin. Virgin
    white, the candle's
    moulded length
    strokes and strokes
    inside your thighs,
    themselves like votive
    lamps about to be lit.
    And the soft centre
    of your flame, the
    liquid fire you have
    burning calls to candle,
    says come
    into my temple come
    press your head
    against this altar and ignite.

14 October 2001   19:04 hours
religion { } salt