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With blood, cramps and acne came the hijab,

the veil. “Feel blessed that you have a gorgeous

godhead dwelling in your bones.” With a stab

of my tongue I wriggled in. Lewdness

isn’t metaphor but pure parasite.

Like their Holy Laws, I’m an acquired

taste. “Don’t go,” you said on our 7th night,

since you now desire what I once desired:

a new language found in our gasps and purrs.

Your own eldritch ne’er-do-well to rouse “goo”

in your cum-caked skivvies as your mirthless

parents sleep. A companion with fingers,

making circles in the moonlight. In you.

This, too, is sacred; like lust, like solace.