She called me holy
so I tattooed stigmata
on my flesh, blue like her
eyes, created a new religion
between my thighs. It spoke
of love in the strangest ways
forgiving, cresting over our
hips to teach us ways of being
in a religion made of returning
pleasure. How soft then the dawn
that breaks from our chests,
envelops our bodies in waves
of please and thank you and again
if you must, if you can, if you want
and need in the form of reckless
abandon. A new religion born
of loving unashamed of our
own selves, of our own giving.
My voice was gospel
and I moaned hymns
to the cathedrals of our
hearts. My fingers painted
the first supper on her lips,
wine-stained tender.
She called me holy,
and I answered her prayer.
Carrie Elizabeth Penrod is a current graduate student at Mississippi University for Women. She lives in Indiana with her hoard of cats. Her poetry has been featured in Prometheus Dreaming, on Button Poetry's Instagram, and on corn stalks.
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