st. afra smacked, pounding nails into wood
& i sleep-walked to where she stood in the yard;
her fishnet stockings, halo snapped into headband.

about year ago i started touching myself again,
first just a fist over top underwear,
mortar pestle me, i ground into sand, spilled

out my window. she's rebuilding the temples of venus
like the one where she used to be a hierodule.
a sacred sex slicer, a shrine shaking 

slut like me. she says she can't believe
she ever sealed off her clit for god, for christ.
laughing we make sacrifices to her,

the love goddess, chopping my dildos
sideways & pouring lubes into basins,
oh holy mother water. no ivory columns here,

just a tree house. a ladder dangling
that i climb with my lover. we make sacred 
our queer bodies. i show her how 

i touch myself & st. afra dresses
us in fishnets, roses blooming where
we once had genitals, the scent of evergreen,

the altar where our blood comes out white.
myrtles pollen pucker our throats, she prays 
for us, that we find pleasure there.