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