In the laying
on of hands, we become
a moving. All of us
arbiters of sacred.
Bring me your pain, love, bring me
your laughter in bed. Leave my cheek pink
with satisfaction. Bring me to the dark
corners of the sacristy
in the grassy field, where
the caterpillars ritual in apostolic succession.
Your traveled, generous
thighs crushing me
between them, rosary
at my lips. Rosary a rope
binding me, every knot
a station in the slow
melt of indulgence.
Enthralled, & the moon
above. Never merely
mortal, we conduit
everyday
genius & delirium.