The Devotee and her Deity

Words by: Chloe Hope (she/her)

Drag of silk over skin— 

My fingers in your mouth,

the rasp and scrape of your molars 

against the pad of my thumb.

Wetness and warmth. 

Palms pressing dents 

into the corners and curves of you— 

my one unanswered prayer. 

The slip of your tongue 

against the swell of my hip,

and the way I’d become goosefleshed, 

shivering even as you melted me. 

I could be remoulded, reborn 

into the shape of something 

you’d permit to touch 

all that my hands are empty of. 

Let me become your impetus—  

the thing that barstardizes you, 

unfurls you like a leaf in spring. 

Let me make you vulnerable, breakable.

Let me break you 

as I have been broken

beneath your honeyed gaze. 

Let me be the embodiment 

of all that you deny yourself. 

Your presence pulls me taut—  

a bowstring. 

But you are also the flung arrow: 

skin, blood, bones, 

buried marrow-deep. 

If you would see me, 

I could show you. 

If you could just look at me—  

kneeling bruises into my skin 

as I bend like a willow at your feet. 

If you would just look at me—  

God, if only for a moment— 

You would look at me 

like someone who is allowed 

to ask any of this of you 

at all.