by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
Your arms reach out to welcome me
(and us, if only all would see)
the breast that heaves with passioned love
and promises of peace a dove
to drip on me a tongue of flame
and whisper or proclaim Your name
and nestled intimately with
the golden song of my Wordsmith
Your hands so firm hold gentle still
so bloodstained touch my skin to thrill
the quiet grace with which You took
the steps that brought my eyes to look
to You as You hanged, Sweet, above
and taught me (us) how I'm to love
