Catholic School Girl, No Skirt

Pull down your top and practice me
freckles, sins and rosaries.
I forgive your butterfly kisses
on my thumbs. Pushing
my tongue into the cathedral
of your mouth, your chords
sing my name. Those arches
pray for auricular confession.
Bless me, I love hearing my name
and God in the same sentence.
I cross myself in your holy water,
and the only thing you can do is run
your fingers through my hair.
My satisfaction is within the pulped
mouth, the spiritual glisten.
We aren’t even mortal.