We spoke in different languages
when communicating our love—
a forsaken conversation,
for it lacked comprehension.

You could never understand
my monologues of love—
words I choked on for you,
gasping for air,
with hands clasped,
chanting a faithless prayer.

You craved my mesmerizing harmonies,
while gazing at the curves of my lips,
mapping the valleys of my skin,
tracing the path to my fruit,
ripe and lush,
the purity I guarded—
desperate and seldom.

My mortal self—
transcendent,
and ungodly,
all at once.

You wanted my sacred gifts
and I wanted to give you my world.