Last Echo of Night

(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)

 

Time. Space

separates us

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 curtain.

The moist warmth of kisses past,

between lovers,

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.

 

 

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