These hips chime like a wordy clock; I mock
some god with symmetry and blackened feet.
Prophet of Christ, of wet, bend not thy knee
⠀⠀⠀
but thy neck; dwell thickly between my knees!
Beloved, thy makes are but a grasping mock—
you speak so clean those dark wasps of defeat.
⠀⠀⠀
Spill instead a message at my bewitching feet.
Lay handsome on a platter adorning my knees.
Watch as men smear my dew upon their mawk.
⠀⠀⠀
Is it mockery, my feet tracing thy bruised need?
Kale Hensley is a poet, essayist, and scholar whose work bridges feminist poetics, mysticism, and literary history. Her writing has appeared in Gulf Coast, Booth, Image, Evergreen Review, and elsewhere. Find more of her work at kalehens.com.