i drank the holy water -
a sweaty sort of baptism.
now i smell like smoke and
perfume (incense of choice).
every body's sacrifice marked by
orgin-less bruises,
painted purple in the dark.
my hands still flutter
with the feeling,
the memory of running
my palms up her thighs
and putting my faith in the sway of her hips
to lift
me up and up and up and up
out of my head
and into the world.
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