we made love in tangled
sheets and you
were nearly silent every time.

I think you were afraid God would hear you.

you lamented your own
hypocrisy and reveled in the guilt
of our sinning, but offered no complaint
when my lips were on you.

I like to imagine your voice
in a breathy whisper
between my legs:
“lead me not into temptation,”
before you let yourself
be carried away.

if I could lead as good a man
as you astray then maybe
there’s hope for me yet but

you have to admit

our bodies fit much better
without deities in between them.