— by Janie Lyvon

I sink to the cool stone nave,  

knees bruised, palms spread—  

an unlit votive waiting  

for the ember kept behind His teeth.

Incense of dusk spirals,  

braiding clove between our breaths.  

Heat climbs the vertebral rungs;

His tongue forges raw ore into prayer.

The altar hums through my rib cage,

silence tolls its vespers.

And beneath that hush, 

the body recalls  

every covenant trembling 

beneath the skin.

One final—

Amen

at the rim of His mouth,  

before mercy kindles us to flame.