Corpus Kristie (of Cell Block C) (title)

Over a thousand captive nights
I measured her every centimeter
with lips, fingertips, and tongue.

Her curves, her scars, her freckles
became my Bible, a testament
read slowly in the dark through
attentive touch like braille.
I memorized it all.

That salty spot in the hollow of her back
where the sweat of passion collected
just above the bubble of her butt
became my eucharist.

The first time I consumed it
brought a religious ecstasy,
worked a transubstantiation
of my own body and mind,

I knew by divine revelation,
that each of the too many
men I'd known too well
had been nothing more
than a money changer in my temple.

Today, My corpus Kristie
ascends from this hell;
I am left behind to pray
she might be resurrected
in the body of another.