The multi hue of the stain glass
hides the blood stain
on Jesus’s memorial.
It was left by the priest as an offering in his shame
(the same priest that blesses us at every Sunday Mass;)
he thinks about the nuns.
(Especially the younger ones,
with their innocence and covered bodies of delicacies;)
that fleshly temptation
that the Catholics swear off when they enter the Churchhood,
is now the fantasy of the straight priest,
who hides out in the Confession Box, and pretends he’s not in as
his eye lids flutter close and he
grips himself through the fabric of his robe.
Then the priest,
up late after hours,
staggers to the altar of his God,
conflicted; and with a razor
set against his wrist,
he offers his unpure blood,
and asks for forgiveness.
(C) Marie Meyers, 2013