Her body flows like milk
Between her legs there resides a **** cherry
She is the sweetest of angels to bless this sullen place, she is softer than the silk of wedding night lingerie
When her all seeing eyes come to rest on me a wave of euphoria overtakes me
The strongest of drugs
Cheeks fill with blood like nectar when her lips move against mine
The rise and fall of her sleeping chest is a poem
It captivates me, forces me to memorize the quiet motion
Her feet fall and she dances like a sprite on my heart strings
She is purity and delight, she is precious emotion
In my arms she is light and when is away the feeling she leaves behind radiates
Never have I loved something so sincerely
Never before have I been graced with something so stark white, child like, familiar and altogether new

I thought I could swallow my fear,
But I guess you could taste it in my kiss.

My body has not once been a temple.

I remember years ago,
sitting poolside with my grandmother,
her spidery, veined hands touching my knee:

"Your body is a grand temple,
only those who are holy are worth admittance."

And her stern sincerity made me laugh.

My body is a wet, lush jungle.
My body has been trampled through and lived in.

Destroyed, burned,
yet always continues to rebirth itself from the rubble and debris.

Am I any less for this?

My body is a mystery,
a slow wafer on the tip of a school boy's tongue.
A dark, cool place to rest your weary head.
A place to let your feet press into the rich soil
and feel like maybe you can call this home.

I think one time,
a man with dark hair and light eyes thought he could
reduce me to mere trees and rain,
not knowing the jungle is not a safe place.

Unlike those with temples for bodies,
my heart lives deep in a hidden cave guarded with
sharp memories that feel like claws.

My memories have teeth,
and my heart has a brain.