howling my name into the sands of Jericho

from my latest collection, Letters to a Lover I Have Yet to Meet

for your musical enjoyment:

You observe Palm Sunday on my chest
Partaking in a holy sacrament
And my body is alive in golden fire,
Catching each drop of a lost language 
from your tower of Babylon,
Fanning me with your hands, your mouth, 
whispering psalms over my skin, 
howling my name into the sands of Jericho.
Don't you feel that this mortal flesh is temporary?
Don't you know that we choose to live these existences, 
to experience the joys of humanity once more?
Don't you know that it's our heavenly bodies in every lifetime?
I know.
I feel it each time our lips inevitably meet again, 
like magnetism, like mated swans, 
like the very core of our cells reflects back the other's DNA strands, 
braided with fate and time.
There are mythologies in the way your mouth moves across my skin. 
Within each mythology is a magnitude. 
Within each magnitude is a meteor.
All this to say, 
poetry and prose aside,
Love is the only god I recognize.

Thanks for reading friends! be a cool cat and comment your favorite line below :)