When I close my eyes,

you’re still beneath me—

arching, breathless,

a prayer unraveling in my hands.

I see the light catch your shoulder

as if God himself were watching,

jealous of what we made in the dark.

We were holy then.

You, the altar.

Me, the sinner.

Both of us forgiven

in the way our bodies met—

slow, aching,

desperate to be known.

Time has taken you from the room,

but not from me.

I still make love to you

in memory,

in silence,

in sleep.