Thursday, October 3, 2013

beatitude

We have sex in the sacristy while in the cloisters nearby monks chant Vespers. But at dawn we're back because Leah's lost her keys. We ransack the vestments—stole, alb, surplice, mitre—which, alas, again arouses us. Oh, the quest for beatitude, lust's liturgy, as the canonical hours spin by! (The monks chanting Matins now.)

Leah's keys still missing, we find one that isn't hers: it's a Key of David, and large as a pectoral cross. Leah slips it between her breasts, where it burns, then scarifies. I kiss the perforated flesh, my tongue a wary picklock.

3 comments:

merevaik said...

wow....amazing trip!! Prob more in it than first read!

merevaik said...

great.amazing juxtaposition. I suspect more in there than a first read shows.

merevaik said...

Great ...more there than meets the eye. Great juxtapositioning!