(I am the Word of God, if a god you need.
I am the last religion you’ll seek, the author and interpreter of your original sin.
I only gave you free will so you would learn to return it to me.
To bend you like the willow, to teach you like a child, to honor thy word
like a hero.
To heed me, as rain to thunder, as smoke to purifying sage, leaving the history of us
smudged on your skin, as fleeting as my whisper to)
from the dark lilt of your voice,
the light tilt of your head,
the curve of your neck,
that slightly familiar breath,
the sharp bite on your belly
when you sling aside
The moist warmth of kisses past,
passed beneath covers (which belong to me).
You ate the holy words
and I watch kingdoms fall
that should not have been summoned at all
to be trampled beneath your feet.
My words pause, patient but tense.
Whispers at your neck
nudged between the last echo of night
and first blink of sight.
There I wait,
waiting for you to dream,
so I can slip into your mouth
when you sleep.