Religion / Magic / Luck

If this is your idea of rain
then my throat is a flower
thirsty for the splitting sky.
How else can I tell you
about the want inside of
me – so clear it echoes
like a shattered glass,
so clean it’s never wanted
me back?
How do you expect me
to have any words for
the way our bodies bend
in the dark of the night
to one another –
like this is something
whole and holy –
like our knees are ripe
for devotion?
I’ll hold you against me
like a talisman;
all that old magic
they’ve passed off as luck.
I will practice saying yes
until gold coins fall from
under my tongue.
If this is your idea of rain
then let it come.

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