confession

I followed your cues,
your footsteps,
placing the tip of my toe
into each imaginary impression
you left
trailing behind you.
Kneeling at your alter,
I nibbled
small seeds of seduction
from your hand,
my eyes gazing up
into yours.
I was a little girl
in the presence
of her priest,
taking communion for
the first time.
That was when I thought
God could save me,
believing love didn’t hurt.
Now, under the
heavy, starched motel
sheets, we find no rosary.
Our curiosity tearing down
castles built in heaven,
bodies
drenched in sweat,
neither of us reveal confessions.
We only speak of
here and now,
this room fogged by
cigarette smoke,
the eternity we have chosen.