let out the butterfly

ix.

loved

I learn something new
each time in the torrent of rain;
over a cup of coffee
I turn over a new leaf—

and it is this:
I am
a beautiful woman,
independent,
in my red dress, cross necklace.

a rosy bead of petrichor
moistens my skin,
with the pad of my finger,
I smear it to prolong its kiss.

I am no longer
a mere girl,
heavy-footed,
with religion in my hands.

I do not have to be
unblemished to have you:
that is not life,
those are ropes I tighten
around my wrists.

I long to rest now
in a grass drenched
with kisses so sweet,
not one person in the world,
to celebrate this freedom

that I shall wear now
as a perfume,
a musk so dizzying, 
akin to your scent
that I carry within.

I am allowed
to be loved
even if I sin:

I can come to love,
sit on my folded legs so prettily,
beg for forgiveness
and receive it.

I am
loved
and there is nothing
that separates me
from this connection:

me and God,
me and you,
me and the rain.