The Beauty of Our Sins

I found a lover with desires equal to my need for filling.
He held me as if he thought I might leave at any moment.  
I wondered if he knew my edges and how near to death I hovered.  
 
He gave me a piece of stained-glass from a now demolished church.  
I placed it in my window wondering what prayers had been given  
under its refracting light.  
 
This morning it casts a purple light over our spent flesh.  
I think he is beautiful and lightly touch his heavy softness,  
remembering it as a living scepter that worshiped  
in the alter I spread before him a few hours earlier.  
 
Soon I’ll return to the softness of sleep  
remembering the beauty of our sins.