I’m kneeling.
My fingers wound
Like barbed wire,
Knees bear the weight
Of my guilt;
What I didn’t expect
To show you
Were thoughts in my mind
About sex:
I imagine his fingers
Softly gliding along the curve
Of my hip
And as I gave thanks,
What fruit I would taste
On his lip
And as I said, “Amen, Amen,”
His fingers stroking
And I bending,
Pulling
Grapes off a vine.