Your Mouth Was the First Heat That Felt Like Prayer
By M. Allshouse
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
for your love is better than wine.
Take me away with you—let us hurry.
Let the king bring me into his chambers.”
— Song of Solomon 1:2–4
Open my scriptures.
Let my lips praise you in ways God’s silence never dared—
as your fingers trace each psalm upon my skin.
The heat you've coiled in my core
burns hotter than any passage recounting
the fires of hell and damnation.
Hell is the anticipation of you accepting my gift—
but Heaven...
Heaven is the feel of your lips on mine.
Why become one with God
when in my sheets
we can both become divine?
An apotheosis of two lovers
creating their own Eden—
no God to cast us out
as I taste your apple—
and worship your serpent.
Your words are the sweetest hymns ever composed,
breathed like a last breath in my ear—
each call and refrain
a choir reaching crescendo
as pleasure turns to greed.
This act:
a church for our offerings—
mind, body, and soul.
Let me be your Mount Sinai—
where fire and word entwine,
our gospel written in sweat and sin,
divine and defiant,
blurred into flame.
As we become God among men.
Your Mouth Was the First Heat That Felt Like Prayer
By M. Allshouse
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
for your love is better than wine.
Take me away with you—let us hurry.
Let the king bring me into his chambers.”
— Song of Solomon 1:2–4
Open my scriptures.
Let my lips praise you in ways God’s silence never dared—
as your fingers trace each psalm upon my skin.
The heat you've coiled in my core
burns hotter than any passage recounting
the fires of hell and damnation.
Hell is the anticipation of you accepting my gift—
but Heaven...
Heaven is the feel of your lips on mine.
Why become one with God
when in my sheets
we can both become divine?
An apotheosis of two lovers
creating their own Eden—
no God to cast us out
as I taste your apple—
and worship your serpent.
Your words are the sweetest hymns ever composed,
breathed like a last breath in my ear—
each call and refrain
a choir reaching crescendo
as pleasure turns to greed.
This act:
a church for our offerings—
mind, body, and soul.
Let me be your Mount Sinai—
where fire and word entwine,
our gospel written in sweat and sin,
divine and defiant,
blurred into flame.
As we become God among men.