Melt me slowly

I have found myself at a crossroads,
sandwiched between folds of cloth
and yards of flesh.
Do I gently tug or do I begin to disappear?
A silly thing, flesh.
They say it is the greatest organ,
and when pressed so rightly,
when stroked so tightly,
it does sound a homily,
glancing the narthex and singing its praises
to God.

God what I want to do to you
under the yards of flesh.
I want to practice ingenuity.
I want to stitch and sew myself to you.
I want to become that which is filling this void
between us just so that I may inch that much closer.
And closer still.
I can feel your breath on my breath.
I can see your eyes in my eyes.
This distance is driving me mad.
I am ready to listen.
I am ready to listen with my calloused fingers,
which stand crossed at the lower of your back,
and wishing, God, wishing there were some way
I could feel more of you at once!
Can we just get on with it?
I stand/ sit/ puddle, suspended
from your fingertips,
waiting and wishing for this time to end
so we can finally
see what it means to fall.

I am melted and you are the artist.
This space between us stretches and pulls
at my muscles, moulding me and sculpting me.
This one moment,
this one time where we become joined
cannot take but a moment.
But, you, in this halcyon dream,
forget time.
And because we are sewn together,
I forget time too.


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