The Prophet’s Quake

In a world that wouldn’t cease to fire
She became his sanctuary
Her body his temple
Her mind his priest

Her lips tasted of redemption
Her neck smelled like frankincense
Her tummy a garden of labyrinths
Her breasts the sweetest fruit

He’d pray through the night
And worship until dawn
Begging heaven’s waters upon him
Until the angels in her throat sang

Her hands coaxed his sweet surrender
Her legs of tender strength
Her temple shook beneath him
All hail for the Prophet’s quake

~ Alyssa Noelle Coelho

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