My saviour is a hunter, and he loves like a Sunday storm.

I’m singing in the blue room,
singing for him
and when I’m done, his applause
is the rain
battering,
a gale-force encore.

My saviour is the devil, and he loves like the sea in summer.

I’m skipping through thresholds
to reach him
and once I do, his arms
are the branches
caging,
a thorny embrace

My saviour is The Hermit, and he loves like the sting of a wasp.

Our nights,
nights we sleep sharing breath,
those nights are his.

Our mornings,
mornings he feeds me strawberry halves,
those mornings are mine.

My saviour is no saviour, and he loves like he hates:
all at once, with nothing to soften the blow.

There are 14 steps in my house.
He has stood at the top,
waiting for me to fall,
since I was a child.