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.
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