Why do we still struggle
like famished beasts together?
Why these striations of passion
this inner bruising
where Your thighs crush?
Sometimes I am a gender
so blended into desire
that male and female
become just one flower
we hold in our hands.
Your lion is in my skin and flesh.
This grappling with the void
spills over into saline prayers
that climb to heaven
as ravishing angels.
