THE CLOSET MYSTIC

I’ve come to worship

at your body’s temple.

I am on my knees 

confessing the sin of my desire.

Your curves are scripture—

I touch the divine—

I’m in ecstasy.

Light, white, blinding.

No—

this is false.

I know not anyone

worth bowing to.

I cannot

make you my idol.

I will not.

I’ve had quite enough

of love

that puts me on my knees.

We meet face to face,

or we do not meet at all.

I give—

but I also receive.

No more love

that is a one-way street.

Done am I 

placing the divine in another,

as if they, and they alone,

hold

all that is holy,

like I am damned,

and my salvation

is bought

through martyrdom,

dying 

for an unfeeling God.

If you are holy, then I am too.

If I am damned, you are too.

Scales of my love: balance.