i will always be more tomb than temple, i know.

there are ghosts and gods reclining

on the moth-eaten velvet of my tongue,

tigers and thunders purring in my veins but—

 

if you keep praising the curl of my eyelashes,

comparing them to flying eaves / and if you keep

tending to my collarbones like hanging gardens where

you plant bright, fragrant kisses / and if your fingers

keep fitting the liminal spaces between my ribs,

like lock and key / then you might just adore me

into holiness / as miraculous as a lotus

rising from strange waters, as the moon

swaying high in darkness.

© 2022 Eshqin Ahmad