i.
The word of Flesh is easily learnt when eager tongues converse.
They speaketh: cling to me, sing to me.
Feel the weight of them press upon thee.
Within their arms and lower — that potent fig tree —
there bursts new life; a Genesis
of sweat and sweet lilting symphonies.
Welcome the devotee to worship within the chapel
of thine body, and witness God in crooning, dulcet
murmurs. Let them kiss thee with the kisses of their mouth.
No joy can be found in those self-imposed droughts
when rivers of milk and honey lay abound.
Shed all hesitation in the divine pursuit of touch,
that vocation which doth sway our bodies thus.
ii.
He took my jaw and loosened it, as Samson wrangled the lion.
“No mercy, no mercy,” I cried.
I wanted his spit in my mouth, his blood in my teeth, his nails in my flesh. And when all of him was given to me, I lay as a corpse in wait for his next stroke of death.
iii.
Rich Romans, important Romans, they all had quite ostentatious banquets. I worked in many in my dlifetime and eyed dishes of animals they would eat to extinction. I served food I would never taste to people who gorged themselves until they got sick. But sickness doesn’t stop them. Cravings must be sated, even if it meant passing out.
I never understood why anyone would eat so dangerously until now. I wanted him in me until my body was sore and I couldn’t move. I wanted him in any state, fit or sick, as long as I was full of him and I could feel him on my back, knees almost giving out. I wanted him to release into me so I could swallow till the last drop, as if I was denied water for nearly a week.
Could this mean the worst for the both of us? This was the animal that I wanted to eat until extinction.
I wanted, I wanted, and I wanted. I could not think about anything beyond this moment, so I told him to take my tunic off and he did.
iv.
Your love is my stigmata;
You mar me beyond recognition.
I give myself up to you.
My body is yours, my blood is yours,
you are the lashes on my back.
Sometimes you simply hold me, and I
am broken bread in your palms,
crumbs soft on your tongue.
There is no question for my endurance.
This is not sacrifice. It is, I think, my dearest,
what was meant to be.
v.
Just the thought of their flesh renders me soft and warm like dripping myrrh.
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