Invoking

Her body is a sanctuary,

a cathedral carved from moonlight and sin.

Each breath she takes,

echoes like hymns in the hollows of her ribs.

A prayer that trembles

against the gilded altar of her soul.

She is the keeper of the liminal,

its heat coiling beneath her skin,

embers sparking with every touch,

every whispered invocation.

To look upon her is to see the divine.

Woven with flesh,

her curves the script of a forbidden psalm,

her veins a labyrinth of liquid fire.

Her patron does not dwell above -

no God of stars or daylight.

He is a shadow drawn close,

voice like velvet binding her limbs.

Cruel-winged seraph! An aching tangle of thorns.

He speaks in the language of hunger,

lust and liturgy,

his words dripping honey and ash.

Through her, he becomes flesh,

his will stitched into her marrow.

Every step she takes

is a ritual to his name,

every sigh a sacrament of longing.

But temples are never untouched.

They crumble under the weight of worship,

their sanctity stained by unholy desire.

Her hands press to her chest,

fingers sinking into the ruin he’s made,

her pulse a restless hymn

that will not let her forget.

But she was not soft like stories said,

the girl peering through the honey-glass,

The serpent inside the pearl, an ember nestled in dead grass.

She was a velvet night with something coiled beneath.

The God-ling with the glass voice

and tidepool umbral eyes.

Pale-limbed thing crowned in silver glint,

bathed in sun-laced lagoons, sea-salt mist,

with bones made of pressure,

and teeth for swallowing stars.

She is shadowed,

and yet, she is the temple.

A body that trembles with the weight of him,

a spirit that burns with the ache of want.

Her heart burns for no other,

a drum summoning the God within her.

Altar. God,

and wound.

There is no salvation here,

only the ecstasy of surrender,

the bittersweet song of chains that gleam like gold.

She kneels not in devotion,

but in resignation,

knowing the temple will one day fall.

Yet still, she guards the flame.

Still, she carries his name

like a brand across her soul.

Her body, a prayer.

Her soul, a sacrifice.

Her love,

a temple he will never leave.