this is how i pray

i.    i kissed the fallen angel with my eyes open. i needed to see it - the black bloom of her wings in the bruised sky, the silver flash of teeth against the taste of me. my hand burned on her waist, the heat of her veins searing through her skin like god had buried a dying star inside her. i knew, even then, that this was the kind of touch you get punished for - but i would do it again. she let out and cut my leash; called me free like it was an execution; told me i had always been mine while she stood there - a temple ruined and rebuilt too many times to still be holy.

ii.    "always an angel," she whispered, "never a god." - that's what killed me. not the weight of her, but the way she bowed to something greater while i would've built a kingdom just to burn it down in her name. we were not made for heaven or hell! they do not build realms vast enough for the kind of love that split us open. the saints look away from us. the devils honor us, they bow in silence.

iii.    so when i begged her not to ascend, not to leave me in this mortal husk of a world, she laughed like thunder cracking over stained glass and then she turned - eyes dark as a priest's confession and said, "human? you don't deserve to be human. do you want revenge? is that what you're thinking right now? do it. do it. seek revenge. end my life. be the hand of god. it's your choice. it's always been your choice."

iv.    i looked down at the depths i had dug just to be near her. the abyss that echoed her name. the sin i'd swallow again and again if it meant i'd have her for one more hour. if it's my hell loop, then i will kiss lucifer's hooves with gratitude. i will bleed out at the altar she builds from my spine and never once ask for mercy.

v.    i carry on with beaded sweat, embedded tears, and a mouthful of ash from the wings i burned. i carry on because even ruin becomes sacred when it's done in her name, and though the blade never leaves my hand, i do not strike. i kneel. i whisper, "still, i would do it again."