It had been a month
since we fucked.
There was illness
and work
and deadlines
but mostly illness. 

Then the absence of bleeding
created pockets of silence between us. 

I feared abandonment
and you, creation at its fullest. 

Now, it feels like we never
cried over morals as we push
into each other with hunger. 

Your crucifix is tangled
in your beard, steel chain swaying,  
reminding me that prayers
are sometimes answered.