I.
His hands warm against my body—
Stoking forgiveness from deep within.
He holds me close—
Madness of need
rising to the surface.
Thirsting.
Hungering.
Feed me.

II.
I am washed in my devotion to You.
Simmering—this love,
a continuum.
Never do You thrift my heart—
You fill it to the brim.

III.
My tongue,
Your darting scribe.
Longing to prayer You.
Exposed in pondering—
a livewire chaos,
fringed in every direction
for You.

Every past wound—
and the sword I keep near them—
are but pinpricks
compared to how You ruin me,
and fill me Yours.

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