Gomorrah

Illustrated by Maja Kobylak.

If I wanted to,

I could

pluck you,

from the blackberry bush, crush you

on the roof of my mouth, drink the juice,

spit out the pith.

I have tasted

the fruit

and the honey.

I spoke of finding god in the rolling hills

three thousand two hundred and eighty three miles

 removed from Sodom.

It’s Midsummer.

When you look back I can

see your salt-slicked brow.

We’ll raise the cities of the unbelievers,

burn it all down.

Where the river that chokes,

is used to wash our feet,

and on the banks of the Wear,

We break our bread.

When our hands meet, not a desecration,

but a prayer.

You always believe that to love

Is to know that you could destroy,

And to choose otherwise.