Worship

I.
I am under your skin,
Leaning in, hand under
The table, mine startling yours.
I find an opening and squeeze
It. It feels like touch through latex,
Touch on your de-gloved
Fingers. It stings and you
Jerk away and I milk blood with
My vice.

II.
Like peeling pomelo
Gently sliding, prostrate, forehead
Pressing the doors of
Your chest. Open up. Think
Scratching on the porch, sleepless
And blame it on the vulgar
Yearning in the cry of a molly.
They murmur from the fibres
Of your pillow, my voice
Worming into your ear, a finger.
Think midnight showers, falling
And falling yet you sleep
Back against the door like some
Angry husband.

III.
I am against you, hot earth breath,
One of those understory trees bemoaning,
Thunderstruck, arms flung up to their sky
Beneath the canopy. I exhale
A mist of birds, cupping dried leaves
That you shed. Holy water. I collect them
Between my branches,
An image of you: bird nests
Barren and desperate.