Quake into Me

And if we were to make something
as sacred as love,
as scarring as touch,
in Bulgaria,
under The Eyes of God,
I would still pray that I shook.

I would beg the rocks to fall down on me
and the moon to make the gold in my skin
gleam like silk
and that everything:
my nails in your back,
your face in my neck,
our limbs twisted and tangled together,
while our backs were arched in worship,
would cry
holy,
holy,
holy.

I would want the cave to break
and bend in a sharp line,
just so I could see God smile down at me.
I would open my eyes 
to meet the blue of the night sky,
feel my lover’s heart beat in time,
know that what’s made will last,
and that his lust has filled me
wholly,
wholly,
wholly.

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