I could not tell if this was the Temple Guardian in you.
Had I made an unwilling alter of your chest?
and laid out all of my hurt for the morning?
Miles of tense muscles, released in weeping breaths, across your vest.
We had crossed many deserts,
like playa you’ve describe in kind.
Met many people.
Passed many steeples.
Were you waiting for me to burn?
Small embers sputtering hot from my throat,
as I hudled myself against your breast.
I wept, unkempt, soul spent.
Were you playing Temple Guardian…
or do you seek the alter too?
If I crack my sternum open, will you scratch your worries deep in to my walls.
Leave past remembrances in my halls?
Would you run your fingers along the sacred texts
left by past lovers;
forgotten volumes of clandestine leather and scroll. Would you leave me whole?
Would you read what they too,
left etched in my ribs.
Inscriptions crudely transposed in every language of love and disdain.
All of the seed of worry they planted in my hips;
the secrets I’ve kept for them, behind lips.
If I gave you the space to worship, would you?
Would you buckle, knee by knee.
Succumb to gravity.
Would you weep and weep,
until you found peace?
When my insides finally meet capacity,
would I burn before the whole city?
When the bones of my vessel crack and fracture
under the weight of them,
will I be lit by torch come nightfall?
Will they make a spectacle of me with dance and song?
Will I billow unmet prayers toward the sky?
Will I be reduced to a pile of ash, by fire?
Will all the lovers who sought solice in me, dance at my feet.
Will they, in the coming years,
see me rise from the ashen desert like a Phoenix?
Their need of me is vehement.
Will my cracked chest take new form?
These broken bones will never heal the same as before.
And when the time comes,
will you be my temple too?
I’ve been waiting to worship
at the feet of someone like you.