by Megan Grant
I know that Your skin is sunlight 
and Your breath is water,
which makes You dangerous,
to be sure. It also explains
why, most of the time, I’m
either burning or drowning. 
God, I miss the sound
of Your earthquakes,
but only the sound. 
I could lie next 
to Your nose, but Your lips
make my skin fold 
into the blood underneath.
If I were lovely,
would You sift my sin?