leap of faith

it's not right, and everyone says that, if i tell them.

but this tastes nothing like original sin,
this "i love you" whispered between the confessional
heart's lattice layer, looking for penance, words heavy
and heated, like warm blood pooling in my stomach.

but this tastes nothing like sickly sweet
apples from a fallen tree, a snake whispering
between the two of us to eat, eat, devour;
no one's looking.

(they're always looking,
and this? God's always
known.)

this can't be wrong,
this tastes sweeter than heaven and it's hotter
than hell, and more bitter and tangible than earth.

this is a blessing,
pressed to our foreheads,
like a fleeting angel's kiss.

(this is for you, because i saw the way you looked today, when they mentioned we all had original sin.
you did look back, not at me, but at something and i wanted to tell you that this is not wrong. it never will be.)