My tongue, a boat to heaven
Curled up in the night sky of my mouth
I speak of him and take flight
A gondola from here to thereafter
Wet flesh becomes a vehicle to divinity
A miracle performed in darkness, I speak in hymn
I scribe his favourite things in journals,
I chant them to the blue,
I watch the stars eat them and
grow brighter
My lover is the question and the answer
Eyes speckled as the pages of a holy book,
He is the window to God
The stained glass, glittering and gorgeous,
Shining violet light across my neck:
He blooms.
Ani Bachan is a Toronto-based midwifery student and occasional writer. She has been previously published in Inlandia’s Online Journal, The Showbear Family Circus, and F3LL Magazine.