Sunlight on damp skin and ragged breath as I worship,
cry out for thunder once more.
Oh, to seek the lightning flashes of your gaze,
to be graced by the fall of love’s rain,
to ascend that sacred mount where the swell of ambrosia
graces your lips like a glistening promise—

You’ve become a god to me,
giving my poor mortal existence a glimpse of Heaven,
the hopes we’ll linger after the last beats of our hearts.
With you, eternity is tangible.

And yet, despite the whispered oaths and passionate swearing,
always the cloud lurking in the flawless sky,
always the doubt darkening my devotions,
disrupting reverent prayer:

Heaven must be a lie—soon your Hera will return.

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