your lips are the altar

I'd trace your seam like a map maker's dream,

One made of silk, where the rivers all scream.

Your upper lip's hymn, but the lower's a psalm,

Press my ear close just to hear it sing calm.

I'd build you a shrine out of wax and my teeth,

Light candles just to watch how the heat makes you breathe.

You're a split peach in church, but I'm no man of faith,

I'd kneel anyway-just to taste what you make.

I worship your lips like a holy divide,

A communion so sweet, it should be a crime.

You're a bloom in the dark, but I'm no gentle bee,

I'd sting you just right-till you're aching for me.

I'd braid your sighs into ropes for my hands,

Pull till you're gasping, till you understand.

Your lip's not a door, but I'd jiggle the knob,

Till the lock gives way and the flood starts to throb.

I'd sew your whispers into the hem of my shirt,

Wear you like guilt, let the threads start to hurt.

You're a prayer I'd slur, a confession I'd steal,

I'd press you to paper-just to feel what's real.

I worship your lips like a sacrament's due,

A ritual carved where the light doesn't shine through.

You're a slit in the curtain, a secret, a slip,

I'd tongue every edge-till you beg for my lips.

So here's my devotion, my hands in the red,

Your lips are the altar where I'd bury my head.

I'd kiss you like sin, like a vow, like a knife,

A love so unholy-it's better than life.