You tropical zest filled motherfucker.

On my hands and knees at your Croix, 

My scorched lips part in merciless thirst,

And I begin my prayer:

Fill me up.

Come through me. 

I open myself entirely to you.

It is more than just titillation that runs down my throat. 

As I indulge in your bubbling pleasure I find myself gasping – pleading for more. 

I cannot be quenched. 

Yet you are cruel.

You only let on just a hint of your holy treasure.

You hold your love in a thought right across from me, 

While your steady gaze punctures my caged soul. 

In my hands, you are always cold at first. 

But as condensation collects between us, 

I salivate at the thought of you in me, 

And I bring your sun-kissed lips to mine.

What proceeds is almost salvation 

Almost heaven 

Almost the beyond   

But the suggestion of fortune cannot reprieve my debts. 

You offer freedom in bread crumbs that trail 

From one sip of your atonement to the next,

And you always leave me parched and perched for any sign of your return.

As I sit there, despondent,

Still vibrating from your last visit, 

I grow tired and weary 

Of wanting and never having 

Tasting but never touching 

Starting but never finishing 

I become enraged and resentful

I start to throw a fit;

I pull my hair, scream your name, curse the sky

But just as I feel myself expelling you once and for all –

Silence catches my breath and chokes my words.

I remember this:

I am only alive if I want. 

I want only if I am alive.

An essence is neither a promise of something more,

Nor the insinuation of what once lingered.

I delight in my desire

More than I desire your delight, 

It is the wanting that keeps me in genuflect

Not your sparkling sight.  

Amen