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Exiled, I found citizenship
in the republic of my body—
that ravaged landscape I navigate
by heart. And it’s easy, becoming
what’s yours. Can’t say I know
why Adam asked for another—
my Lord lies
between my thighs, and each morning
I curl to meet my maker’s lips.
I pray faithfully in the cathedral
of raised legs, my hair haloed by sunlight,
as I bow deeper, eager to receive
His blessing.
a vegan auto-fellationist? is such a thing even possible? Wouldn’t that cause a black hole to spring into existence and swallow up manhattan?
Is this metaphor so obvious that it will make Hoboken angry?