Come…
let me kneel where the Id still whispers,
where hunger learns to pray with its teeth showing,
where God looks away
just long enough for desire to speak.
Come…
I’ve worn virtue like a clean shirt over a filthy body,
confessed with my mouth
while my pulse rehearsed your name
like a sin it refuses to forget.
Come…
touch me where doctrine thins,
where the soul starts bargaining..
if this is wrong, let it feel right enough
to ruin me properly.
Come…
you feel like scripture torn out of context,
all heat and implication,
a verse they warned me never to read alone
after midnight.
Come…
I don’t love you safely.
I love you the way the Id loves…
without reason, without mercy,
without asking God for permission.
Come…
let disappointment drip from my hands,
let guilt slick my spine,
let forbidden mean alive
for a few stolen breaths.
Come…
tonight I don’t want forgiveness.
I want the ache.
I want the fall.
I want you..
and whatever damnation follows…
An1, 2025
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