Mortal sin

by Philip Fortune

Solitary priests in their black boxes,
raking through sexual secrets
with cast iron rules,
drawing heavy curtains
over humanity’s unmentionable weakness.

To touch my hidden need, constantly
with brutal shame,
exposing it bit by bit
under a merciless searchlight
until I die—that is Hell!

Unfaltering condemnation of my unknown urges
you called pollution.
Naturally,
I did it—
and a million times already!

With souls of Shylock
covetous for Christ,
you counted the flood of my ravishing thoughts,
even in the silent night.
But can you expiate the guilt engendered?

Systematically plundered vessels of dreams—
and all the golden girls and boys
left learning to love in their injured ways.
Inherit now their hardened hearts
to the last drop emptied of intimate trust.

I broke your rules—
You broke my Church!
Can we forgive each other?
Perhaps
we must.