SHE WORE A CROSS

There it hung, quietly trembling a cross etched above her heart a man crucified in ink on skin the world had judged. My desire blurred the sacred fingers brushed past holy lines the cross shifting under motion as if faith itself sighed. She whispered, “Slow down, boy this isn't a race to win you're not here to conquer, just to feel without shame.” And in that moment, something broke not lust, but my assumptions. She wore a cross and carried more grace than I did. Not all devils wear horns. Not all saints live in temples. Some carry God in the most unexpected places.