one
Oh you wounded God,
You come to me
with your yearning
to be seen as beauty
with your longing
to be held
just as you come
in your contorted face
in your scarred and twisted body
you can no longer hide
i see you
your crown of thorns, a basketful of flowers
my glands producing tears and milk, the same
this copious flow of blood,
concurrent dying, birthing
sacred and profane
these drops of pain, compassion
which your hungry mouth now opens to receive
from this, my breaking open heart, a womb
to receive your penetration
oh
i tremble
at the terror of this tender touch
as i open wider to receive
the whole of you
and stretch to deliver you
in this pregnant moment
full of pain and joy
1 Comment (+add yours?)