Blood

We Pharisees,
we laugh at what is different.
We, all the same.
But today, I have not come for that.
I have come to be a child.
To dip my wondering hands
in cool, red milk
slightly sticky to the touch
and sickly to my untrained heart.
I have come to be a child,
asking a thousand questions,
while burying my answered head
under a pool of calming mother’s milk.
I have come to be a child,
sweeping slow arms
in ever-widening circles,
knowing more and more
of a greater Love.
I have come to be a child,
trading whimpering anger
for a simple tub,
filled with the most extravagant Love.
You broke your Lover’s body
to leak your Lover’s blood,
and I will never understand,
yet now will never be unLoved.
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