At Your Altar

I paint lust on your body thick, my tongue a paintbrush, your pores contracting as I pass over nerve endings.

My hands wash over you, momentarily renewing you from the wrongs you’ve committed. I let you think you are my God as your muscles tighten and tense. My lips follow your line of vertebrae as I assure you that you’re rare. I convince you your sex renders me powerless, that I am a mere mortal in your presence.

Your hands grip my waist and I push your body back against the mattress. You are in me, I am on you, I keep writing empty promises into the nape of your neck, into the crevices of your ear. You can imagine that I’m in your possession but I silently vow to never be yours as I kneel between your knees. Your greedy intentions lay stagnant and bitter on my tongue as your limbs relax.

You’re naive and mistaken in your ownership over me, we will never have the same God.

L’Agent Goodies…