h o l y / w a r

that the sight of my bare thigh might ever be more threat

than god dream sounds like a you problem.

if my mere thigh might render

any action you'd take unholy, maybe

your mama forgot to teach you something.

let's call it what it is:

that the glory of just my thigh

is so great, it makes you want children.

the glory of just my thigh

makes a praise dance rise within you, and

how it breaks me

that a praise dance in anyone could become so grotesque,

can contort into a war you'd wage

on a body that would open itself

like some soil tilled in a promised land,

a body that would bear you forth in perpetuity.

eve ain't caused adam to fall. the man made a choice

and would chose the same again, and

fuck an apple, he would've walked barefoot

over a field of thorns if it meant her breath soft in his ear,

her heart alive against his, and

his hand in prayer against her thigh.

helen's face ain't launched 1,000 ships;

men's foolishness did that.

i want this body and all it renders possible-

the dance, the gather, the bend, the bringing forth-

to be your church. let a reverence

for all i encompass found your new religion.

learn to love what i make move within you

like you love the sun which gives you life.

do not become war

because my thigh is so great.