Worship in the Wild

by Taylor Sicko

In the end we all rose from the ape

and grow teeth for which we have no use.

Enduring the familiar ache before emergence.

Which is to say I have no choice

but to bare the tender flesh of my throat

and beg you to gnaw at the lump you put there.

Give in to the animal

that craves to roll in the scent of you.

Devotion from my knees.

Surrender

without the promise of salvation.

And isn't worship just the same as lust?

I'll crawl my way to the devil,

I'll brag of my sin,

for it tastes so sweet

and so much like you.