what was it about saint genevieve
that made me tremble
with something more than holy fervor?
maybe her parisian ways,
or the loaf of bread kept
aching inches away
from coy marbled lips
or those long, columnar thighs
wrapped in a starry girdle
protecting the virgin's jewel,
the father's treasure.
would that an altar boy's gaze
could lift the stony drape!
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