Soft is the longing touch of skin when I so badly keep my hands off her face. In my temple, I downed my own tears and in my head, the holiest day is one of these sunny days. "The rapture," they'll say, "is coming."
The goddess Kali Ma kept her words flowing off her mouth in mantras of imbalance. She knows how sad I am. She named this place gehonnim, I called her home and I want to know if after all, did she ever loved me in any sense because I'm about to leave and I know I can't go back and forth hell and earth. She knows how sad I am. I think this was why she sung this one hymn with my name replacing all her own. I'm about to leave her a serrated four, a love that is broken and the red stain of blood by her tongue but she doesn't know how sad I am.
If it's a blazing pyre, I die at your feet and I die with my eyes shut and my mouth open. My object of affection is an untouchable devotion, axial cords of a love switching side. Oh, she knows everything that I am. A devotee. In love of this one time she let a garland around her neck, spinning in front of the altar with her red dress and smiling to the deity even with her eyes shut, welled, to their rejection.
