heretic (07/12/19)
my body is a temple.
he comes to worship nightly.
slams these doors wide open
knowing they were only expecting him.
my body is a temple.
he bounds inside,
starving for my holy water.
feels me on his tongue and can't help but drink up.
my body is a temple.
he steps inside slower now,
looking like he forgot the words
to all of my hymns.
my body is a temple,
but i think he might be
losing his religion.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: