Devotion

Devotion

I have never loved in halves.

Small and quiet do not suit my love.

I was raised to believe

that love could cast me into the abyss,

that devotion could be my undoing.

So I decided

if I must burn, let it be for something holy.

I love with soul-crushing reverence,

with loyalty, with worship.

If our love does not birth its own scripture,

I do not want it.

I love as the faithful kneel

head bowed, hands open,

ready to serve.

I believe in soulmates,

in missing ribs,

in hearts shaped from the same breath of creation.

I believe love is meant to be an altar,

built higher than the self.

A life of washing dishes because you hate to.

Of waking first to start the coffee.

Of eating the crusts and the burnt parts.

I believe in sacrifice,

not in grand, dying gestures,

but in the quiet offerings of every day.

I crave intimacy

that does not touch the flesh

but sanctifies the soul.

And it might just be my undoing.

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