Angela de Hoyos

because I go like the professed sinner repentant to the altar of your baptismal flame I am saved despite your sculptor-love whose whimsy kneads and molds and fires then breaks the free-form of my fasting body to make me whole yet thankful I accept these carnal gifts of you Eros and wear them as I would flawless jewels (how can you know that I have bled the way and back biting the dust to wear your name?) . . . the wound lies not in your infliction but in my expectations . . .