Eros

Hands, fantastic
element I adore;
touch, medicine
against my eternal
submergence;

skin upon skin, preservation
I cannot offer to myself,
though salvation lies beyond
that moment of submission
to perfection; 

eyes, beloved
altars; sound
of conjoined breathing
rising and slowing,
a chant in the cathedral.

I long for such divinity
as if I would be lost forever
without it. I lose myself
for it, find myself beyond it:
here I am. Thus, I am.