I will not be quiet, or gentle
you see,
for religions can exist
without incense or temples
in fact, they can live and breathe
in the salt you lick from my fingers, slowly,
and as my mouth opens
for my tongue to reach
the peach that sticks to my cheek
all the while, the beads of sweat slip
quietly through the hairs gathered at my neck
and you lean against me
and our breathing finds a rhythm
and that, my love,
is a revolution
in silence.
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