as
though I were a Magdalén—
I
don't love you enough already.
But
don't forgive me yet:
I'm
too young to sing hosanna.
There's
still strength left
in
these loins, so I'll sin
until
these burns turn into
dust
and this sinew into ashes.
Then
I'll cling so sweetly
to
you. I'll baptize
your
feet with tears
of
deprecation, that
perfume
I couldn't
muster
when I was
sure
I didn't need you.
And
when you finally
forgive
me, Lord,
I'll
love you harder
than
I did before
(Until
I sin again)
