and i will hold you afterwards like you were the pulpit and i was the sky
Milos, by Anis Mojgani
“And I thought that the museums were cemeteries where the dead paid the walls to hold what we have
so that we can walk through what we once were,
and children take their skulls to turn into gardens,
to pluck for forefathers and farther stars,
that on some nights resemble an armless mother praying for her arms to return.
every tooth we tear from our jaw to fling at the black gloved riot soldiers is another shadow that we are trying to lose.
where every giggle be filled with lust; let us laugh this night away and i will fuck you
like you were a prayer.
I could save me by having my mouth around you,
and i will hold you afterwards like you were the pulpit and i was the sky,
and this love that danced between that hardness was a telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through.”