my devotee, i caress,
with gentle prowess, as their veins run with blood,
and i feel it beneath my fingertips,
a limitation, to my inner being,
as i take their chin, and lift it up,
gripping forcefully, in an attempt to break the skin
and feel the truth, in their worship
almost completely rid of their mind, but not their heart,
my acolyte, gazes up at me, smile framed by these fingers
i am supposed to call mine, awkward and useless,
until she came and found me, and suddenly,
everything living became vital,
and i could feel a pulse beneath my own skin,
beating and beating and beating,
endlessly enduring, a trait akin to my follower,
whose very presence has started to consume my thoughts,
a place that used to be mine only, and yet,
im willing to share, if it means i too,
can one day show them the truth in my divinity.