What He Sees

I wish for one moment, I could see me

as he sees me. When I am spread out

beneath him, my body a sea of ivory.

Freckles become millions of stars

covering my celestial body.

He breathes in as if my scent becomes

sweet honeysuckle on a summer night.

Fire rages in his eyes, ready to consume

so completely that I become nothing

but ashes in the wake of his reverence.

The very same body that I used to pray about

every night, begging to a deaf God,

Please just fix what is wrong

he cherishes with worship so near heaven

I can, for a moment, believe in angels.

He writes poems with his touch

fingers trace sonnets over my newest curves.

Every kiss is a perfect stanza on its own.

Composing lines of such sweetness

that I find myself weeping for joy.

Crying in amazement that someone,

anyone could see this body, my body,

without its careful disguises and say

It is beautiful.

When I explain how I should never

be worshiped. He kisses me until

freckled stars dance in my eyes,

wraps me in the universe that exists

between his arms and all I can do is

listen to the truth in our shared heartbeats.