by Maurya Simon

Slowly, like a hot tear tracing the skin’s folds,
God drew His finger along my parted lips,

Then down, down along the round swelling of my chin,
Then slowly He skimmed my curved nape of neck—

Soft as a dove’s throat and bare of any scent—
Turning delicately around my wingless collarbones,

His finger pulled its burning torch down to my breast
That pounded so I shook, down to my hardened aureole,

Its tiny halo enflamed, engorged with milk—
Where He hesitated only a millisecond before

Letting His finger meander further down, gravity
Lowering my eyes too, as slowly His fingertip undulated

Along the corrugation of my ribs, and down again,
Grazing now across my ripe expanse of belly,

Where He paused momentarily to circle my naval softly
Before His finger moved on further down, down

To my tenderest mouth flushed with blood, blushing with
God’s breath upon it, His finger rousing me there,

Stoking my trembling nether lips, rubbing them gently,
First the one, then the other, then the tiny tidal wave

That rose to meet His finger’s playful, painful touch—
The aching, rising pitch of flesh turning everything to fire—

And then, all the universe—extinguished:
God took His hand away.

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