She said it like a prayer,
Never so beautiful,
So wicked,
So hallowed.

She said it like a cry,
A plea to the priest,
A call to the callused.
  A hym that only he could answer, with lips and tongues and immortality thinly-veiled as piety.

And so he answered there, between her thighs
With reverence,
And hungry eyes.
  And a vow to save her from these cries.

But he is the God, the god who lies.