we have both learned the hard lessons:
both been razed and born again at our hands, with the strength of root systems we grew ourselves.
the doing and undoing, the pushing and stalling, the growing catalog of what we have swallowed, what we have righted for ourselves and others. 
still Eden does not open. i fail this catechism every day.

these are my confessions:
that i have taken pride in your presence, that i have been proud to make a gift of my errant mouth.
that i lust for you: that i write sonnets for your hands, couplets comprised of your eyes and mouth, gospel rhythm for the twining of your legs between mine.
that i am gluttonous: that i eat memories of you for every meal, stay hungry for the tracks of your hands across my burned skin.
that i have transgressed, and will transgress again: that i will violate history and geography and meteorology to arrive in the beautiful future where we are wholly ourselves, and full of heat and light.

bless me lover, for i have sinned, and will sin against any deity who denies me my faith. bless me lover with more: more grace, and all the time you will allot me. i am grateful for every moment.