Poetry
Charley Allen
Sacrament
She kisses hard lines down my chest,
nipping shoulders breasts ribs hips,
with the flat of her palm pushing up
and nails raking down,
she covers every inch of my skinó
toes to torso, ribs to chin
and my breath rasps in and out
too quickly to pinpoint the second
when she spreads my thighs
and stops,
slowly, she leans inhales
and I, laid bare and panting still
watch her move with such reverence,
paying homage.
