Holy Infatuation


I know that you love me
but that is not the burning point
at the moment.

Not while the winter sun
is filtering through
church windows,
spilling its second-hand warmth
across my dozing
and dreaming face.

Not while the moral lecture
from the pulpit
catches and releases
my attention
like a cat with mouse-for-lunch.

Subdued by my mesmeric want,
my lower-belly need
to explore you,
I decide that all of you
is too much for this moment,
so for today,
just for this moment,
I focus on your right ankle,
that arched and curved
stretch of softness
between the piano's pedal
and the strappy enclosure
of your shiny black pumps.

I can envision my hand there -
thumb pressed into the hollow
beneath the bone,
sliding slowly upward
into your mysteries.

For this moment,
this moment alone,
God is with me,
complicit in my admiration
of your flesh.

©2010 Christopher Reilley
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